It had been some years since I’d seen the man myself, and given the manner in which we’d parted I would have been perfectly happy to leave it that way even despite his “big discovery”. He was a media darling, letting the rigor of his scientific conclusions slip in order to make headlines. Sadly, most of the community was doing that sort of thing in those days, because headlines sell better than dry, accurate conclusions. We’d argued over that, and it had become heated, and what had before been a close partnership had fallen apart in moments.
I wasn’t at the conference because I cared what Brennan was about to show to the world. I was there because he’d asked me to meet him there, he’d sent a note that said he was sorry and that he was wrong. I frankly didn’t believe the written apology, I suspected he wanted something from me. I had been nothing but a professor for a decade by that point, but I still had influence with some of the more established museums and collectors that Brennan had never bothered to cultivate for himself.
There was a large, burly, decidedly not archaeologically inclined man standing in front of the doors leading to the backstage of the main auditorium, which at other times of the year was used for orchestral performances. I showed him my badge, and he let me through. I noticed that he was keeping about a half-dozen people with cameras and notepads at bay - reporters. I didn’t then and don’t now think that archaeology should be groundbreaking enough for reporters to come in person and shout questions. Our science should be slow gradual, like the forces that make it a challenge.
The backstage area was poorly lit, and a heavy curtain shielded it from the main stage. I walked in cautiously, hands in front of me, trying not to make a fool of myself.
“Allen!” Johannes’ voice called out from somewhere to my left. More than three decades hadn’t taken the youthful enthusiasm out of his voice. I turned, and saw a shadowy figure that fit what I remembered of my old partner. “You came after all. I’m glad. Come over here.” His arm on my shoulder guided me through the darkness to a chair, and bid me sit. A matching chair creaked a few feet away as Johannes Brennan sat down.
“Johannes, what’s this all about then?” I asked. I’d have preferred to be more formal, but he led off with my first name and habit took over. “Why’s it so dark in here? My old eyes aren’t up to this. I have no idea how yours are.” I dug into my pockets for the penlight I was in the habit of carrying.
“I didn’t want to shock you, Allen.” Johannes said as I was searching for the light. “Let me answer your first question before we address the second, okay?”
My suspicions rose. I didn’t think Johannes capable of doing me any harm, but I saw in this the makings of stage magic, and I didn’t want to be conned. “No, Brennan. Everything on the table. I must insist. No theatre.”
He sighed. “All right.” I heard him get up and walk off, and there was the sound of a switch being thrown. A pair of large fluorescent lights overhead began to warm up. I saw that in addition to the chairs, there was a hard-shell suitcase not far away. I heard him rummaging through some things, as if looking for something. “I know you didn’t believe me about the apology, Allen. And you were right not to.”
“So you do want something from me.” I called back.
“Yes, but the apology was sincere. I have... perspective now. I was wrong. Becoming famous through sensation... it’s cheap. I hope you’ll forgive me for my past mistakes.” He sounded sincere, but dismissive of his own past arguments, as if the greatest dispute in my life or his meant nothing to him now.
“How much time do you have?” I guessed. The only way I knew to give a man that kind of perspective was a terminal diagnosis.
“What?” He called back, confused. “Oh, no, Allen, I’m not dying.”
“Everyone’s dying.” I replied. “At our age especially.”
The rummaging stopped for a moment, then continued after a few heartbeats.
“What are you looking for?” I asked after a moment’s silence.
“Wanted to see if there was a mask in their stage props.” He replied.
“No theatre, Brennan.” I replied, getting creakily to my feet. “Or I’m leaving.”
“All right. Don’t say I didn’t try.” A lid slammed shut and I heard Johannes’ footsteps returning.
“What is it you want from me then?” I asked, sitting back down.
“I want you to demonstrate something for me on stage in two hours.” Brennan replied from the other side of the pile of chairs. “Among other reasons, because people know you’re no fan of... well, theatre.” He seemed to hesitate a moment before stepping out into the open.
If I’d have been standing, I would have fallen over. Johannes Brennan looked as if the intervening years hadn’t touched him. He looked just as he had on the day we’d parted ways, when we were both in our early thirties. His hair was as black as it had been, and there were no creases in his forehead. I assumed it was makeup. “Brennan, what the hell is with the facepaint?” I asked. “You’re not fooling anyone. You’re as old as I am.”
He laughed, and shook his head. “It’s not makeup, Allen.” My old colleague bounced up onto the balls of his feet like a schoolboy getting ready for a footrace. “I found it. No-one else believed it existed.”
I frowned, not knowing to what he was referring.
“The Fountain of Youth, Allen!” Johannes practically ran over to the suitcase and started fiddling with the combination code. “I’m not going to be sensationalist about this one. I don’t need to. I just need someone to walk out on stage and demonstrate it for the camera, and then I will come out and answer questions.”
I put two and two together. “And you picked me.” I realized he probably considered that more of a kindness to me than a favor to him.
“If you’ll do it.” Johannes didn’t look up. “I could dupe any of the stodgy old professors here into it, but I’d feel bad about it.”
I didn’t bother telling him that what he was proposing was still sensationalism of a sort, or that everyone knew that there was no such thing as the fountain of youth. He would dismiss both of these things out of hand, and I realized I was willing to dismiss the latter as well, after seeing him. “Supposing I agreed. What would I have to do?”
“Walk out on stage, sit down, drink this, then eat about half your body weight in an hour.” Johannes held up a tumbler-sized metal container. “I told them to get me catering for thirty, just in case.”
“I can’t eat half my body weight in an hour, Johannes.” I pointed out. My teeth were still originals, at least, but my stomach simply wasn’t up to it.
“I didn’t think I could either. But it happened. You’ll be very, very hungry.” He set the tumbler down and closed the case, then turned back to me. “Total irony, you know. The place where I found this was graveyard. People who found the place drank it in the middle of the jungle, and their bodies starved trying to reverse time... wasting away...” He drifted off into the past for a moment and I saw a flash of something far older than Johannes looked crossed his face. It lasted only a moment though. “Anyway, I went in as if the stuff was hazmat, got my samples, and got out.”
“How does it work?” I asked cautiously.
“Magic? Super-powerful homeopathy?” Johannes smiled and shrugged. “Actually seems to be nanites. Got a sample analyzed. The lab said there were metallic particles in suspension of irregular shape. I need to rent an electron scope to learn more.”
“You don’t know how it works, but you drank it?” He had always been impulsive, but that sounded uncharacteristically stupid, even for him.
He nodded. “Once the lab said it was probably safe to drink, I gave it a try.” He gestured to himself. “And it worked out.”
I put my palm to my forehead and closed my eyes. I didn’t want to believe any of what I was seeing and hearing, but I was beginning to.
“I’ll show you everything. The place even. It’s... rather remote.” Johannes urged. “But in ninety minutes the people out there want to see what I’ve found. No showmanship. Just the facts.”
“Just me growing... thirty-five years younger. On stage.” I clarified.
“Yup.” He replied simply. “You get to be young, I get the reveal nobody can question.” He set the tumbler on the floor. “What do you say?”
“Johannes, you’re insane.” Was the only response I could manage.
“That’s not an answer.” He countered.
My mind crept backwards. I saw the events of my life in reverse - my professorship, my days at the museum, then my days in the field scraping layers of dust off of pottery at dig sites. Ellen, the only woman I’d ever loved, walking out on me, then the good times when we were together. Everything that I could do again these past thirty five years or so. A second chance. Hell, as many chances as I wanted if Johannes could find the place again. Not just for me, either. Potentially, for everyone, at least eventually.
I sighed, and bent over and grabbed the tumbler. “I’ll do it.” I finally said weakly.
“Attaboy, Allen!” Johannes reached across and clapped my shoulder. “I’ll go see about the food.” He jumped up and practically pranced out of view. I heard a door slam in his wake.
I held up the tumbler, feeling the weight of a change bigger than any I’d ever known, and swirled its contents a little. “I’ll do it.” I repeated weakly.This story written based on a prompt from Klazzform's Short Story Competition on rpgcrossing.com.
