Milo Moon by Derek Haines (classic literature list TXT) 📕
Excerpt from the book:
It all ended after World War Two. Or so it was thought. While medical and physiological experimentation on humans was repugnant and against all sensibilities, it remained valuable and above all highly profitable. Just simply believing something had gone away was good enough for most. Not for Milo Moon and Mary Seaton, who became proof of an international conspiracy to hide the truth. Simple and childish they may have been, but they held a history in their beings that was a threat to international political stability. For the Swiss government faced with such a discovery on their soil, the art of politics necessitated compromise and calculation to find a solution. A viable outcome that gained maximum political benefit of course; which is the habit of seasoned politicians. However, above all this had to remain a secret and be buried again behind the walls of political cloak and dagger, secret services and a need to protect the sensitivities that we call modern history. Therefore, it never happened.
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- Author: Derek Haines
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last few days,” the driver said. “But it’s gonna be dark tomorrow I heard.”
“Thanks,” Milo said and noted that taxi drivers are all the same. No matter what the state of reality.
Seemingly Home Again
Milo thanked the driver, and after the events of the day so far, he was not surprised to be standing in front of his flat that he had seemingly left some hours before. Entering the front door of the building he checked his mail. Nothing as usual, and then he climbed the two flights of stairs to his flat. The door wasn’t locked, as usual. He opened the door with a little less nonchalance than he normally would have done had it not been for George and the events of the day. Everything seemed to be the same. The two glasses George had rinsed were sitting proudly on the side of the sink.
Milo looked around carefully and everything looked in order. Except there were two chairs now populating his small kitchen table. Odd. The door to his bedroom looked the same. He went in. He checked his calendar. His ‘Joe Your Friendly Neighbourhood Butcher’ calendar had been replaced with an ‘Uphealth Chemist’ calendar with pictures of vitamin pills. There was a wardrobe. He didn’t recall having one before. When he opened the door, he was shocked to see a neat row of perfectly ironed shirts and trousers plus a few jackets and blazers. Different colours. Blue, black, white, cream, grey but no brown. In a small drawer he found neatly ironed and folded underwear and socks.
“Who in their right mind would iron socks?” Milo mumbled to himself in shock.
He immediately checked under his mattress. Nothing! This was a sure sign that someone had been in his flat while he was materialising, de-materialising, re-materialising and feinting this morning. Milo went then to the bathroom. What he caught sight of in the mirror gave him quite a fright. He stared at what was clearly Milo in the mirror, but not the Milo that Milo remembered seeing in Milo’s mirror this morning.
“You can’t be me, can you?” Milo asked his reflection. Noticing instantly that the reflection's mouth moved in unison with his so this was probably not an optical illusion. His hair was darker. Still a bit on the grey side, but definitely darker. He was sure he had less hair this morning. Then the sudden realisation came to him. What was most disturbing about his reflection. His glasses. They were now fashionably rimless in an extremely fine titanium frame. They were so rimless, that had missed them altogether at first. There was something else different, but after the initial shocks it was hard for Milo to put his finger on it. Then it dawned on him. His face was new! It was younger, more handsome and far less boring. His eyes were blue. It was just then that he realised he was in a totally new and younger body. He checked his watch. He didn’t know why, but he did. Three-fifteen pm. His watch hadn’t changed.
He ran his hand through his darker and thicker hair. When his hand ran down the back of his head, he felt a very small lump. Not even a lump. Just a tiny little bump the size of an overgrown pimple. When he did it again, he realised what it was because he couldn’t see behind himself anymore. He took his hand away and he could see a towel hanging on the door behind him. He also felt taller.
Milo went back to his bedroom and again studied his calendar. “Why would anyone want to change my calendar,” he though to himself. Although his day had been a little bit weird, most of it seemed to have been reasonably explained by George. But the calendar was a mystery. He looked closely. Today was Wednesday. The fifth of the third. Two thousand one hundred and forty-six. His birthday.
Milo sat down slowly on the side of his bed. His face long and sad. It was late afternoon already, and no one at all had wished him happy birthday. Milo thought about the prospect of being wiped as George had explained. It couldn’t be worse than this he thought. Maybe the change from a chimeryon to a formyon would be a good move. Maybe he could get out more, socialise more and maybe make some friends.
The thought vanished in a puff of depression as he realised that he must already be a formyon. The hair, the glasses, the clothes, the calendar, the extra eye. He laid his head down on the pillow and gazed at the ceiling. And his pillow too. All in all, this had not been a great day, nor a great birthday. A sudden wave of depressive loneliness enveloped him, and his spirits began to nosedive. He wished he could pull some brown clothes out from under his mattress. He wished he had his ‘Joe Your Friendly Neighbourhood Butcher’ calendar back. He was already missing Joe’s smile and blue and white apron.
Milo woke up. He hadn’t planned on sleeping, but had. He looked at his watch. Five forty-five pm. Hungry, was the only thought in his mind. Apart from his one and only mouthful of coffee soaked bread, he had had nothing to eat all day. As he got up and headed to the kitchen he wondered if he could be as lucky with the refrigerator as he had been with his new wardrobe. Almost. Six plastic tubes of high protein paste. A packet of dehydrated liver. Two sachets of ‘Carbs in an Instant’ and a tube of milk paste. He closed the door with a complete lack of excitement. It was then that he noticed the pizza sitting on his kitchen table. It was hot!
Milo thought about thinking about how the pizza may have made its way onto his kitchen table, but then thought it better to start thinking about eating it. He didn’t think about that for very long. He was seriously hungry. He decided he would start thinking about how the pizza may have made its way onto his kitchen table when he arrived at his third slice. The pizza was so good, he forgot to think when he was on his third slice and it wasn’t until he started on the last slice that he wondered again how the pizza may have made its way onto his kitchen table. Before he could think, or finish the last slice, his thoughts were interrupted by a familiar sound.
“Drrrinnggggg, ddrrriinng.”
“Bad luck. I’ve eaten it all!” Milo shouted.
“Drrrinnggggg, ddrrriinng.”
“The lock is broken. You may as well just barge in.”
“Drrrinnggggg, ddrrriinng.”
“Oh heavens to Betsy!” Milo mumbled and went to the door with the remains of his last slice of pizza still in hand. “Who are you?” he said grumpily as he found a woman standing on his door step. He presumed she was a woman because she had longish hair and breasts. The rest just looked officious so it was hard to be gender specific when it came to officiousness.
“Mr. Moon?” she said gruffly.
“Yes.”
“Good. I’m here to take you for your re-identification.”
“My what?
“Re-identification. Mr. Smithe explained this to you I’m sure.”
“So you’re a friend of George’s then?”
“A colleague Mr. Moon. A colleague yes.”
“I don’t recall George mentioning anything about, eh, what was it again. Re something?” Milo said with some sincerity.
“Re-identification Mr. Moon,” the woman said rather snappily.
“I’m terribly sorry, but I missed your name,” Milo said sweetly.
“Oh I am sorry Mr. Moon. Most impolite of me not to have introduced myself. Hilda Harpinger. I am an officer for Alpha Reality Control.”
“ARC?” Milo said
“Yes.”
“Would you like some coffee Ms Harpinger.
“Oh it’s Miss, and thank you, I would love a cuppa! It’s been a long day,” she said in a complete change of tone and a cheeky little smile.
“Well, please come in,” Milo said and then wondered if he might have made a mistake. He then wondered where his cat was.
“You look a little pale Mr. Moon,” Hilda said
“I think my cat has been abducted.”
“Oh don’t be silly Mr. Moon. Cats always come and go as they please. I’m sure your cat will return when it’s good and ready.”
“He was here this morning. His name is Cindy,” Milo said sadly.
“Your male cat is called Cindy?”
“Sorry, long story. Black or white?”
“Cat?”
“No, coffee.”
“Oh, sorry Mr. Moon. Black please.”
Milo finished preparing the coffee in silence while he ate the remnants of his last slice of pizza and thought about his cat. He put the two mugs on the table, and then realised how convenient having two chairs was. It helped take his mind off Cindy for a second.
“You mentioned something about re-identification,” Miss Harpinger.
“Oh, yes. Sorry. George must have told you. It was supposed to have been done earlier today, but there was a mix up with your file.”
“Well, the only thing I can recall George saying was something about being wiped. I don’t remember that it happened, but then again today hasn’t been all that clear to me in any form really,” Milo explained.
“Oh wiped. Well, that’s George for you. He is one for a little slang from time to time,” Hilda said.
“Slang?”
“Yes slang. Re-identification is the process of having your chimeryon memory erased and having your new formyon identity installed. George likes to call it wiped. He is not one for big long words.”
“Right,” Milo said slowly as if some of the information from Miss Harpinger was making a little sense.
“So now that’s all clear,” Hilda said in a matter of fact, that’s all clear, now let’s move on sort of way.
“Nobody has wished me happy birthday today you know,” Milo said rather distantly.
“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you. Happy birthday Mr. Moon. Happy birthday to you!” Hilda sang and Milo wondered how bad his day could really get now.
Just as he was about to leave with Miss Harpinger, Milo heard a sound at the door. He went to the door and opened it. There was Cindy scratching at the door. He picked him up and cuddled him fondly.
“Can I feed Cindy before we go?”
“Certainly Mr. Moon. Certainly,” Hilda said in a very sensitive and kind tone. Imprint
“Thanks,” Milo said and noted that taxi drivers are all the same. No matter what the state of reality.
Seemingly Home Again
Milo thanked the driver, and after the events of the day so far, he was not surprised to be standing in front of his flat that he had seemingly left some hours before. Entering the front door of the building he checked his mail. Nothing as usual, and then he climbed the two flights of stairs to his flat. The door wasn’t locked, as usual. He opened the door with a little less nonchalance than he normally would have done had it not been for George and the events of the day. Everything seemed to be the same. The two glasses George had rinsed were sitting proudly on the side of the sink.
Milo looked around carefully and everything looked in order. Except there were two chairs now populating his small kitchen table. Odd. The door to his bedroom looked the same. He went in. He checked his calendar. His ‘Joe Your Friendly Neighbourhood Butcher’ calendar had been replaced with an ‘Uphealth Chemist’ calendar with pictures of vitamin pills. There was a wardrobe. He didn’t recall having one before. When he opened the door, he was shocked to see a neat row of perfectly ironed shirts and trousers plus a few jackets and blazers. Different colours. Blue, black, white, cream, grey but no brown. In a small drawer he found neatly ironed and folded underwear and socks.
“Who in their right mind would iron socks?” Milo mumbled to himself in shock.
He immediately checked under his mattress. Nothing! This was a sure sign that someone had been in his flat while he was materialising, de-materialising, re-materialising and feinting this morning. Milo went then to the bathroom. What he caught sight of in the mirror gave him quite a fright. He stared at what was clearly Milo in the mirror, but not the Milo that Milo remembered seeing in Milo’s mirror this morning.
“You can’t be me, can you?” Milo asked his reflection. Noticing instantly that the reflection's mouth moved in unison with his so this was probably not an optical illusion. His hair was darker. Still a bit on the grey side, but definitely darker. He was sure he had less hair this morning. Then the sudden realisation came to him. What was most disturbing about his reflection. His glasses. They were now fashionably rimless in an extremely fine titanium frame. They were so rimless, that had missed them altogether at first. There was something else different, but after the initial shocks it was hard for Milo to put his finger on it. Then it dawned on him. His face was new! It was younger, more handsome and far less boring. His eyes were blue. It was just then that he realised he was in a totally new and younger body. He checked his watch. He didn’t know why, but he did. Three-fifteen pm. His watch hadn’t changed.
He ran his hand through his darker and thicker hair. When his hand ran down the back of his head, he felt a very small lump. Not even a lump. Just a tiny little bump the size of an overgrown pimple. When he did it again, he realised what it was because he couldn’t see behind himself anymore. He took his hand away and he could see a towel hanging on the door behind him. He also felt taller.
Milo went back to his bedroom and again studied his calendar. “Why would anyone want to change my calendar,” he though to himself. Although his day had been a little bit weird, most of it seemed to have been reasonably explained by George. But the calendar was a mystery. He looked closely. Today was Wednesday. The fifth of the third. Two thousand one hundred and forty-six. His birthday.
Milo sat down slowly on the side of his bed. His face long and sad. It was late afternoon already, and no one at all had wished him happy birthday. Milo thought about the prospect of being wiped as George had explained. It couldn’t be worse than this he thought. Maybe the change from a chimeryon to a formyon would be a good move. Maybe he could get out more, socialise more and maybe make some friends.
The thought vanished in a puff of depression as he realised that he must already be a formyon. The hair, the glasses, the clothes, the calendar, the extra eye. He laid his head down on the pillow and gazed at the ceiling. And his pillow too. All in all, this had not been a great day, nor a great birthday. A sudden wave of depressive loneliness enveloped him, and his spirits began to nosedive. He wished he could pull some brown clothes out from under his mattress. He wished he had his ‘Joe Your Friendly Neighbourhood Butcher’ calendar back. He was already missing Joe’s smile and blue and white apron.
Milo woke up. He hadn’t planned on sleeping, but had. He looked at his watch. Five forty-five pm. Hungry, was the only thought in his mind. Apart from his one and only mouthful of coffee soaked bread, he had had nothing to eat all day. As he got up and headed to the kitchen he wondered if he could be as lucky with the refrigerator as he had been with his new wardrobe. Almost. Six plastic tubes of high protein paste. A packet of dehydrated liver. Two sachets of ‘Carbs in an Instant’ and a tube of milk paste. He closed the door with a complete lack of excitement. It was then that he noticed the pizza sitting on his kitchen table. It was hot!
Milo thought about thinking about how the pizza may have made its way onto his kitchen table, but then thought it better to start thinking about eating it. He didn’t think about that for very long. He was seriously hungry. He decided he would start thinking about how the pizza may have made its way onto his kitchen table when he arrived at his third slice. The pizza was so good, he forgot to think when he was on his third slice and it wasn’t until he started on the last slice that he wondered again how the pizza may have made its way onto his kitchen table. Before he could think, or finish the last slice, his thoughts were interrupted by a familiar sound.
“Drrrinnggggg, ddrrriinng.”
“Bad luck. I’ve eaten it all!” Milo shouted.
“Drrrinnggggg, ddrrriinng.”
“The lock is broken. You may as well just barge in.”
“Drrrinnggggg, ddrrriinng.”
“Oh heavens to Betsy!” Milo mumbled and went to the door with the remains of his last slice of pizza still in hand. “Who are you?” he said grumpily as he found a woman standing on his door step. He presumed she was a woman because she had longish hair and breasts. The rest just looked officious so it was hard to be gender specific when it came to officiousness.
“Mr. Moon?” she said gruffly.
“Yes.”
“Good. I’m here to take you for your re-identification.”
“My what?
“Re-identification. Mr. Smithe explained this to you I’m sure.”
“So you’re a friend of George’s then?”
“A colleague Mr. Moon. A colleague yes.”
“I don’t recall George mentioning anything about, eh, what was it again. Re something?” Milo said with some sincerity.
“Re-identification Mr. Moon,” the woman said rather snappily.
“I’m terribly sorry, but I missed your name,” Milo said sweetly.
“Oh I am sorry Mr. Moon. Most impolite of me not to have introduced myself. Hilda Harpinger. I am an officer for Alpha Reality Control.”
“ARC?” Milo said
“Yes.”
“Would you like some coffee Ms Harpinger.
“Oh it’s Miss, and thank you, I would love a cuppa! It’s been a long day,” she said in a complete change of tone and a cheeky little smile.
“Well, please come in,” Milo said and then wondered if he might have made a mistake. He then wondered where his cat was.
“You look a little pale Mr. Moon,” Hilda said
“I think my cat has been abducted.”
“Oh don’t be silly Mr. Moon. Cats always come and go as they please. I’m sure your cat will return when it’s good and ready.”
“He was here this morning. His name is Cindy,” Milo said sadly.
“Your male cat is called Cindy?”
“Sorry, long story. Black or white?”
“Cat?”
“No, coffee.”
“Oh, sorry Mr. Moon. Black please.”
Milo finished preparing the coffee in silence while he ate the remnants of his last slice of pizza and thought about his cat. He put the two mugs on the table, and then realised how convenient having two chairs was. It helped take his mind off Cindy for a second.
“You mentioned something about re-identification,” Miss Harpinger.
“Oh, yes. Sorry. George must have told you. It was supposed to have been done earlier today, but there was a mix up with your file.”
“Well, the only thing I can recall George saying was something about being wiped. I don’t remember that it happened, but then again today hasn’t been all that clear to me in any form really,” Milo explained.
“Oh wiped. Well, that’s George for you. He is one for a little slang from time to time,” Hilda said.
“Slang?”
“Yes slang. Re-identification is the process of having your chimeryon memory erased and having your new formyon identity installed. George likes to call it wiped. He is not one for big long words.”
“Right,” Milo said slowly as if some of the information from Miss Harpinger was making a little sense.
“So now that’s all clear,” Hilda said in a matter of fact, that’s all clear, now let’s move on sort of way.
“Nobody has wished me happy birthday today you know,” Milo said rather distantly.
“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you. Happy birthday Mr. Moon. Happy birthday to you!” Hilda sang and Milo wondered how bad his day could really get now.
Just as he was about to leave with Miss Harpinger, Milo heard a sound at the door. He went to the door and opened it. There was Cindy scratching at the door. He picked him up and cuddled him fondly.
“Can I feed Cindy before we go?”
“Certainly Mr. Moon. Certainly,” Hilda said in a very sensitive and kind tone. Imprint
Publication Date: 11-09-2010
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