Since mankind first climbed down from the trees we have looked out to the stars. We looked outward wondering what secrets to our existence are out there.
Professor John Spanks is about to discover the biggest secret the universe has. John has his World turned upside-down when he discovers that all this time; we were looking the wrong way!
Since mankind first climbed down from the trees we have looked out to the stars. We looked outward wondering what secrets to our existence are out there.
Professor John Spanks is about to discover the biggest secret the universe has. John has his World turned upside-down when he discovers that all this time; we were looking the wrong way!
Virtually Gone
Â
Â
Â
Â
Â
Â
Â
Â
Simon Carr
Â
Â
Â
Â
Â
Chapter one
Hell is this?
Â
Life is, well, itâs awful really, isnât it? I mean, sure, it has its moments like a good wedding with a nice buffet, but my god doesnât it make you work for them and thereâs so many boring or unpleasant. Even painful days you need to get through to arrive at that one good day. It just doesnât even out, does it? So why do we do it? If we had any sense, the second we discover we get old then die we should just down our tools and say, âWell, Iâm not doing that then, what would be the point?â
But we donât. We slop through the horrifying experience for reasons that none of us seem to understand. Sure, some of us pretend we know what is going on and act like we came here on purpose with a plan, but none of us didâwe were just deposited here against our will with nought but the basic instincts, urges and impulses to maximise our chances of survival inside of a monkey harem. Itâs those instincts, urges and impulses that get in the way of our common sense. Our common sense would have said, âNope! Iâm not doing this.â
The very first time we got explosive diarrhoea, any sane person would have instantly said, âNot for me, thanks, but good luck with it,â then jumped off a cliff. But we donât. We suffer through itâwe persevere. We learn how to make a lot of money for someone else who, in exchange, gives us a little bit of money to compensate us for the eight hours a day we spend making them lots of money.
Â
The strongest impulse is not dying. To reinforce this instinct, evolution made dying really hurt so that we would rather not do it, despite the fact we will have to do it anyway so all avoiding it achieves is prolonging the inevitable and filling that extra time with things that hurt a lot more than dying does. If we successfully make it to adulthood, other urges take over. The strongest one being the desire to make another one. Thatâs a very basic breakdown of what erotica and romance writers study. But the ultimate aim of this strong impulse is to find a mate and mate with them, which in most cases makes another one. Once you have made another one, other maternal and paternal instincts and impulses stop you from asking, âWhat the hell did I just do that for?â
Â
There are many times when the critical thinking part of the brain starts asking awkward questions, so we shut that up by answering the impossible questions ourselves by believing anything. It was at this point we started worshiping stuff. We started small with fish, birds, rivers, and rocks, but as time went on and new evidence presented itself, we could no longer deny that God is not a fish. We aimed bigger with the moon and the sun, celestial objects, worshiping them as gods, and that worked just fine until the telescope was invented.
Â
 The most awkward question that kept coming up was, what are we doing all of this for? A fair point. Life is a lot of work, so whatâs the end game here? What are we working towards? This is when God becomes more interactive. You pay your dues and follow the rules, then at the end of it you can go and sit on a cloud with him. Donât follow the rules and you have to go and sit in a fire with goblins and such.
The worldâs first craze was born. People loved the sound of this, and it served as the bedrock for civilisation for a very, very long time. Eventually though a few people said, âBut you canât sit on a cloud,â so they were killed horribly and the people who spoke for the various gods made a lot of extra rules, the first one being never ask awkward questions or we will kill you horribly.
Â
 As time and civilisation progressed, it became illegal to kill people horribly, so a few people said, âYou canât actually sit on a cloud though, are you sure this is right?â The people who spoke for the various gods just wouldnât talk to them because they asked awkward questions. Anyway, that took us right back to the start, so if thereâs no cloud and no harp, then just what the devil are we doing all this for? Some pretended to be ok with it being for no reason and that the universe and everything in it exists for something to do, a bit of blow really, but in this time, we also discovered alcohol and drugs so it was not a total loss.
Â
The thing is nothing in nature does things just for something to do. Thereâs a point to everything and even though the ant has no clue just why theyâre digging a tunnel, the end product of thousands of ants all doing the same thing is a lovely big ant colony.
Â
 Our problem is we have egos, so we donât want to admit we have no clue why we are doing the things that we are doing or what the point of it is. We like to think we are individuals with free will and we express this by wearing the same clothes that billions of other people are wearing and indulging in the same activities as them under the set parameters that are laid down for everyone.
Â
There is a point in me saying all of this. Iâm not just writing a suicide note here, far from it! Something drives us. None of us can put our finger on it, but thereâs something inside of all of us that is adamant that this is not it; thereâs more. An instinct that we are not going to die then disappear from existence. None of us understands it or knows what it is, but we all to some extent believe it, despite there being no evidence of any kind that such a thing is possible.
Â
What if some of us already know, but we keep it a secret for your own good? What if whatâs next is no better than whatâs now? We assume the caterpillar emerges from its cocoon and gasps, âOh my days! Look at me. I am a beautiful butterfly. This is everything I have ever dreamed of!â But what if it actually spreads its wings and cries out, âThe hell is this!? Where are the cloud and the harp? The hell happened to my legs? Look at the size of this damn tongue! I ate a full dandelion for this crap. I look like a right idiot!?â
Â
Well, all this dwelling on the meaning of life is not explaining anything at all, is it? So meet Doctor John Spanks. Thatâs him at the front of the universityâs lecture hall giving a talk to the students on physics of which he is a doctor of âso Schrodingerâs cat is both alive and dead at the same time because it is not being observed, you see?â
A young man with skin problems and a large ginger afro puts his hand up. John nods at the student, giving him permission to speak.
 âDid they cut a hole in the side of the box so they could check?â
John pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. âNo, if they did that, they would be observing it, wouldnât they?â
The student answers, âWell, how did they know it was both alive and dead at the same time if nobody checked?â
 John answers, âThey donât! So it is both alive and dead at the same time until confirmation is made with an observation.â
The ginger student snorts. âItâs dead.â
John asks the student, âAnd how do you know that?â
 The student tilts his head. âBecause you poisoned it.â
John smirks, âBut it was alive when you put it into the box. At some point the cat has to be both alive and dead at the same time.â
The student scrunches his nose. âThatâs not quantum physics, that is just dying!â
Â
The bell rings, so John glares daggers at the ginger- afro student. âI want you all to research what would happen if there was a Geiger counter inside of the box with the cat, in particular the rate of decay of atoms.â
 The ginger student shouts as he gathers his stuff into his bag, âIs there more to this class than learning how to kill cats?â
John has a moment and realises he needs to be clear on something. âNobody poison a cat! No cats are to be harmed, is that clear?â
Â
The class streams out of the doors, so John turns his phone back on and listens to his messages. He only has one. âDr Spanks, itâs Dr Melbro. Please make an appointment to come and see me as soon as you get this message. It is of the utmost urgency.â
Â
John makes the appointment and drives to Dr Melbroâs surgery. John has been having scans and tests done for severe migraines that have been progressively getting worse. John has been trying his best not to worry about it, but the tone of that message now has him fearing the worst.
Â
John nods at Dr Melbro as he takes a seat in his office. âThe message sounded urgent, doctor; Iâm not expecting that you dragged me down here to give me good news?â
 Dr Melbro gives a heavy sigh, then looks over his thin rimmed silver glasses at John. âI wish I had some better news for you, John. The scans showed it is a tumour. I am afraid because of where it is we cannot operate on it. To do so would definitely kill you.â
John puts his fist onto his chin. âIs there no way to get at it with chemo or radiotherapy?â
 Dr Melbro shakes his head, so John asks, âHow long do I have?â
 Dr Melbro looks sorrowfully at John. âWe are talking weeks and months rather than years, John. I can give you something for the migraines, but at some point soon we really need to discuss end-of-life care. We need to monitor you to make you as comfortable as possible.â
Â
John flicks his head back as his eyes glaze over. âSurely, you must know of some experimental treatments. Itâs not like I have anything to lose now, is there? Sign me up for any of them.â
 Dr Melbro responds, âNone that I am aware of, John, not for a tumour as advanced as this one.â
Dr Melbro takes some leaflets out of his desk. âYou can get in touch with these people. They can help with any questions you have, or they can be with you as you tell your family. They are always at the end of a phone, day or night.â
John answers, âWhat family? I only have a goldfish and I donât think Moby will be too bothered. Do me a favour?â
 Dr Melbro opens his palms upwards. âAnything, John.â
John stands up. âJust send out an email or post to a forum, anything. See if anyone is working on anything, licenced or unlicenced. Iâm not ready for this. I am not scared of dying, Doctor. I am scared of dying now, while I am nothing to anyone. I donât want my legacy to be a tweet or a Facebook post from a former student, telling their friends their old teacher just died. We both work in circles where things are being tested that nobody knows about. Just find out for me, please?â
 Dr Melbro nods. âOf course, John.â
Â
John walks very slowly back to his car in the car park. he looks down and gives an ironic smile as he spots a coin on the floor. He bends down to pick it up and a guy riding a push bike rides in front of John. John headbutts the front wheel of the bike, knocking him back upright, then he falls back to the ground, flat on his back. The dog that is following the biker then cocks its leg over Johnâs head and pees on his face. The biker shouts at the dog, âSabastian, no!â The biker and dog carry on, leaving the moist John lying on his back feeling very sorry for himself indeed.
Â
John takes a hanky from his pocket and wipes his face, because John is part of a small group of die-hards who still carry a hanky. Most of the world stopped carrying hankies in the nineteenth century. Hanky manufacturers accepted their decision and moved on to making pillowcases, but a small band of rebels stuck fast to the old ways despite it being very unsanitary and a bit gross, however it does keep Malcom, who runs a hanky factory in west Sussex, in work.
Â
John decides he needs to ring his mother. The pair have not spoken for four years since Johnâs mother married a twenty-year-old bar man from Egypt who took all of Johns inheritance money after his father was tragically killed by a speeding inflatable passenger banana while on an all-inclusive package holiday in Benidorm. John clicks on his motherâs number. âHi, Mum. Itâs me, John. No, not John from the swingerâs club. The hell are you doing joining swingerâs clubs at your age? Itâs John, your son!â
Â
Johnâs mum eventually recognises the voice. âOh you, what do you want? I am fine, by the way; so is your dad.â
John snaps, âHe is not my dad. He is twenty-four, and I am forty-five. If either of us are anyoneâs dad, I could be his!â
 Johnâs mum sighs. âWhy canât you be more like your brother?â
 John replies, âI donât have a brother!â
 Johnâs mum mumbles, âExactlyâ
 John rolls his eyes. âWell, you are getting your wish. I am calling to tell you I am dying. I have weeks, possibly months, left to live.â
Johnâs mum snaps, âYou said that when you googled why you got dizzy when you stand up too quickly.â
 John drops his shoulders. âAye, well, Iâve been diagnosed by a doctor this time.â
Johnâs mum lifts an eyebrow. âDiagnosed with what?â
 John remains motionless for almost a full minute. âWell, I canât remember but I think that is part of my condition.â
Johnâs mother looks down at the ground. âLook, John, I canât give you the money your father left us even if I wanted to or believed your story. Horus has it all tied up in a bitcoin investment. We will be receiving millions back when his business partner from Facebook gets back to us in three days. Maybe then I will transfer some money over to you, but no more of these tall tales about dying. Show a bit of class, will you?â
 John snaps back, âI donât want your money! You havenât got any now, anyway. Horus has spaffed it all. Oh, you know what? Forget it! I thought somebody might give a flying frog that Iâm passing on, but clearly, I was wrong. When I do go, I am leaving everything to the university. Horus is not getting a back, sack, and crack with any of my money.â
Johnâs mum replies, âOh, stop being so dramatic. I still havenât forgotten you made me ring an ambulance when your poo was green from drinking a slush puppy that was not watered down enough.â John screams before hanging up, âIT WAS GLOWING GREEN!â
Â
John drives home, dejected and depressed. He walks through his front door into his studio apartment and throws his car keys onto the coffee table. He flops onto his sofa, leaning his head back on the back of it while staring at the ceiling. His phone rings. John is of two minds whether to answer it as his interest in interacting with other humans has waned dramatically from this morning, but after a brief moment of indecision, he answers. âYeah?â
 A familiar voice says, âDr Spanks, I donât know if you remember me. Itâs Professor Malik. We met in Switzerland at the Hadron Collider relaunch?â
 John licks the inside of his top teeth. âYeah, I remember, string theory and the Boston hicks?â
 Professor Malik responds, âThatâs right. Look, John, I know you have had a beast of a day, so I will get right to the point. I can help you.â
John says, âYou know I am unwell?â
 Malik says, âYes.â
âYou know of a treatment?â John asks.
 âYes,â Malik says. âNot an experimental treatment, but a proven one. John, you can be cured.â
John gets excited. âHow? Laser treatment? What is it, Malik!?â
 âItâs a revolutionary treatment, John, a programmable immune system. We can program your t-cells to attack anything. Why donât you come out here and we can talk properly?â
John stands up and puts his hand on his hip. âDonât be giving me false hope here, Malik. It is real, isnât it, not a theory or a hypothesis?â
 Malik responds, âOh, itâs real, John. We have used it to totally cure stage-four cancer in human test subjects, Ebola, COVID-19, bubonic plagueâŚitâs been one hundred percent affective against everything in every trial. Get yourself out here. Thereâs more that I canât talk about on the phone, but I am sure that we can help each other.â
âOk, Iâll book a flight for the morning. Thank you, Malik. I really needed this. Iâll see you tomorrow.â
Â
John and Malik both hang up, neither of them saying goodbye; a bit rude. Anyway, John looks at his goldfish in its little bowl and smirks. âOf all the problems I have going around in my head, finding someone to feed you keeps shooting to the top of the list. I donât even like you, Iâm just worried about my vegan students finding out I abandoned you and sending me a pipe bomb in the post.â
Â
What professor Malik has been working on is different ways of getting smaller, much smaller. The way illness or disability has always been treated is externally with medicine or surgery. What Malik and his partner, Doctor Roestone, wanted to do was treat them internally. Everything is made from something. That sounds obvious, but itâs a chain reaction. The universe is made up of galaxies; galaxies are made up of solar systems; solar systems are made up of planets; planets are made up of rocks and gas; rocks and gas are made up of atoms; atoms are made up of protons, neutrons and electrons, and things just keep getting smaller. How small? We donât know.
Â
Every time we think we have found the smallest thing there is, we find something smaller. Professor Malik and Doctor Roestone theorised that the smallest thing there is, is something called a string, and all things are made from these strings. But, they theorised that the strings are so small that they are not made from matter at all but are made from informationâinformation that clumps together to form a string, then these strings entwine with each other until they form something with mass. Then the things with mass join together, forming things with more mass and on and on it goes with the strings at the very bottom of the scale and the universe, or multiverse, or maybe something even bigger at the top of the scale.
Â
If you could find the strings, then you would have access to the building blocks of everything. Genetics works by manipulating DNA, but if you could manipulate what builds DNA, you could program it to be anything you want. You could also make a personâs genetics do anything. You can make blind people see again. You could make an amputee grow back their limbs. You could train an immune system to give you immunity from every possible virus or train it to attack mutated cancer cells. It was these advances in medicine Malik and Roestone were chasing by smashing particles apart in giant particle accelerators, looking for these strings, and from what Malik said on the phone, it sounds like they may have found them.
Â
John had his bag packed and tickets booked. He was giving instructions to the young man who lives in the studio apartment across from him on how to feed a goldfish. âYou just put a small pinch in every morning, Josh, just a bit. Hereâs a tenner if you need to get any more. Iâm not sure how long I am going to be away yet; hopefully not long.â
Â
Josh looks a bit like a goldfish. His eyes are wide and droopy and his mouth in a permanent half-open bubble. âWhat is it again?â
 John looks at Josh for an uncomfortable moment. âItâs a fish, Joshâ.
Josh peers into the bowl. âDoes it bite?â
 John nods. âYes! Donât try to stroke it.â
Josh nods and slowly raises his confused face so that he is looking at John again. âHow often do I give it a bath?â
 John sucks on his teeth before replying, âYou donât need to, Josh, its already wet. Just change the water after a week.â
Josh peers back into the bowl. âFor what?â
 John looks straight up, rolling his eyes into the back of his head. âMore water, Josh!â
 Josh widens his eyes. âHow does it even know what water looks like?â
 John looks down at the ground. âAre you sure smoking that stuff has no ill effects, Josh? I heard you arguing with a pot noodle two days ago?â
 Josh looks up and smiles. âNo, I was not arguing with the pot noodle, John. I was arguing with the instructions on the side of the pot noodle.â
 John is not sure he wants to hear the answer to this, but he asks, âWhy were you arguing with the instructions on the side of a pot noodle, Josh?â
 Josh tilts his head. âI tipped the pot noodle all over the floor trying to read them. I had to start all over again by opening another one; then I tipped that one all over the floor trying to read the instructions on that one.â
John looks sympathetically at Josh. âYou know, the instructions are the same for all of them, Josh. You donât need to read them every time.â
 Josh purses his lips. âI did not know that. I am not very good at cooking, John. Donât worry though, mate, I will feed your cat.â
 âFish, Josh.â
 âIf thatâs what it wants, mate, yeah.â
Â
John walks out to his car safe in the knowledge that when his fish dies, it will be Joshâs fault, not his. Johnâs phone rings as he is getting into his car. âMalik, yeah, I am setting off now. Iâll be there in a few hours. Iâve not even told the university to be honest, mate. I have bigger problems than trying to get them to agree to last minute time off. I will tell them what happened when I get back and just ring in sick until then.â
 âNo need, pal. Iâve sorted it all out. You have been transferred to my department until further notice.â
 âWhy, how long will all of this take, Malik? I have left my fish with an inappropriate adult?â
 âWell,â Malik says, âThereâre things we need to do first. I will explain later. The science is sound, everything is setâŚwe just need some more data before we can begin, and I need your help getting that data. Donât worry, I know exactly where it is and how to get it. Your fish is in a lot more mortal peril than you are in.â
 John responds, âOk, but I did not know we were moving in together, Professor. I only agreed to one date.â
 âYou can stay with me and my wife and our screaming six-month-old if you like, John, or thereâs an alpine lodge with its own pool and snooker room?â
âWell, itâs a kind offer, mate, but kids are like farts. I love my own but other peopleâs disgust me. Iâll take the lodge. Will you meet me at the airport? I donât speak Swiss.â
 âNobody does, thereâs no such language, itâs Romansh.â
 âI donât care what itâs like, mate. I donât speak it, so will you be there?â
 âYeah, I will be there. Donât take your car, John. We will pay for a lot but not months of airport car parking fees.â
John slams his car door shut again. âFine! Get off my airwaves, then. I need to ring a taxi. Iâll see you soon.â With that, they both hung up. I just canât get my head around this not saying bye thing, can you?
When I saw this book, I expected some futuristic sci-fi novel. In some ways, it was that. It's got cool tech and robots and string physics - it's really quite clever. But it also has a lot of crazy stuff like unicorns that look like dragons and dragons that look like unicorns, and a lot more humour than I had anticipated. It reminded me of the book Come Take Me by E.M. Skyler in many ways, with nods to the whimsical nonsense of Lewis Carroll's Wonderland.
It's a pretty short book and easy to read - I got through it in just a couple of hours without any difficulty. There are a fair few issues with grammar and spelling which irked me a little, but nothing a bit more editing can't sort out. Now, regarding the humour, I think it may be a little hit-and-miss. I definitely admit it was quite cheesy and immature - lots of wordplay and a fair few fart jokes, too. It's also very blatantly British which I love (I've read so many American books with references and slang I just don't get). Beneath all the corny jokes, though, the plot is really interesting and there are some fantastic moments and themes covered. For example, it tackles the topic of the afterlife in more of a scientific way which I found rather unique. It even addresses the idea of God which I definitely had not expected. Plus, let's not forget that everything John goes through is because he has been diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumour and isn't ready to die. Some pretty heavy stuff underneath all the farts. There was a surprisingly sweet touch to the ending, too, which I hadn't seen coming.
The plot did get somewhat complicated as the aim of their little 'quest' changed quite a few times, and it was arguably a little too nonsensical at times, but I really enjoyed reading it. I've given it 3 stars but actually would more accurately rate it at 3.5.