The Panacea Programme

Chapter One - Ezra

The doorbell rings. "Auntie Grace!" my younger brother bellows excitedly from downstairs. The hurried pitter-patter of flip flops advances down the hall towards the front door. Meanwhile, our mother Anna stifles a curse as pots and pans clatter haphazardly in the kitchen. She's under the self-inflicted pressure that only true perfectionists could ever understand. No doubt the array of food she's preparing will be of high-end delicacy, yet I suspect she'll be dissatisfied, nonetheless. It is after all, a celebration of Auntie Graces remission from breast cancer. Everyone must put their best foot forward.

I refocus my eyes. I've been staring vacantly at my biology textbook for the last forty minutes completely disengaged. Genetics never interested me anyway. I let out a sigh of mild disdain, stretching my arms in the warm stale air of my bedroom, and eavesdrop on Grace and her husband, listening for her voice. Grace was always a lively, animated woman, highly intelligent and enthused by the world. It reflects well in her strong and endearing voice. But since the diagnosis two years ago, her strength began to wane. When she couldn't go to work anymore, it hit her hardest of all according to mum. And the last time I heard her speak, a cold chill ran down my back. Her voice was a meek rendering of its former self. A frail echo. I listen intently now.

"Hi pumpkin!" She shrieks with delight but quickly breaks into a chorus of strained coughs as the door is violently flung ajar. "Hi Auntie, we missed you!" Sam beams intensely. That child has too much pent-up energy. She catches her breath. "I missed you too. It's been a while, hasn't it?" The two embrace, and Sam beckons them inside slamming the door behind them, setting off a mini household quake. Despite clearly rehearsing a vibrant reaction for him, Grace does indeed sound stronger. She has her vigour back. I find myself smiling at the thought, flip my books closed, and go down to greet the extended family.

Wafts of fragrant herbs and exotic aromas plume up the stairs teasing my nostrils as I descend, the heat of the day amplifying them as they settle atop the layers of stagnant air. All that procrastination has worked up a healthy appetite I reflect, reaching the kitchen door. "Ah there you are! We were just about to call for you. How's the study going honey?" Mum deftly juggles cutlery and plates, arranging them and then rearranging them some several times. "Great mum! As ever," I mutter to myself. "What are you studying?" Grace raises an eyebrow, comfortably seated at the table. She somehow has a sixth sense for my lack of candour. "Um. Genetics Auntie Grace. That's what you specialise in right?" I deflect. She smiles, privy to my tactics. "Well, it's a big part of what I do but not quite the case." "What exactly do you do then?" Sam pipes up.

"I'm an anthropologist. I work at the museum studying ancient humans to learn about how we got here." "And providing treatment goes well you should be back to it in a month or two, isn't that so?" Mum chimes in, now carrying the first of several dishes to the table. Sam stares blankly at auntie Grace, waiting for a more thorough explanation. "How did we get here?" he blurts. She chuckles. "If I knew the full answer to that, I'd be out of a job. You see it's very complicated. We're still only piecing the facts together bit by bit. But, if you're interested in that sort of thing, feel free to come to the museum when I'm back. I'll show you around." Sam's face lights up. I can sense one of his famous interrogations brewing. Maybe he'll monopolize the conversation again like he usually does. So, I decide to change the subject. "How is treatment going auntie Grace?"

"Oh, it's alright I suppose. It'll take a few more weeks for the therapy to fully reverse the cancer. In the meantime, I won't feel exceedingly great." As if on cue she unleashes another nasty cacophony of coughs. "I mean, it's not every day you can trade a terminal illness for a complete bill of full health. I've come this far; I can wait a little longer." Her husband Andrew smiles supportively at her and shifts his hand to rest on hers.

Graces cancer was cured by Renovamen - a government sponsored health corporation that created some sort of biotechnological chamber. Not sure how it works exactly but you go in, it scans you or something, and you come out healthy, I guess. It's rumoured to be like some sort of fancy, glorified bathtub. It was huge. All over TV for months. 'Pre-bathtub' times were rough, to say the least. Hospitals overrun with patients; the healthcare system was only a matter of weeks away from total collapse. We hardly ever saw mum because she was always working overtime. She's a nurse. But now, with most of the population treated, no one really gets sick anymore. Recovery times from injuries are far faster. Life expectancy has doubled. Now mum has time for the finer things in life like cooking and micromanaging her sons to death.