SWEAT EQUITY

The researchers were beginning to get frustrated.

They had been monitoring heart rate and body temperature since his arrival, and though his body was clearly under great stress the extraction team had nothing yet to show for their work. In fact, as the subject’s face turned puce with over-exertion, concerns were now being voiced amongst the researchers as to the likelihood of them killing the man before obtaining a useful sample. An authoritative message came over the audio system reminding the extraction team that this could not be allowed to happen.

This designated extraction team were just one part of a larger collective of researchers (or prospectors) who were seeking to obtain a valuable commodity. The bloated heaving man before them was the only known source. The facilitation team were also present and were responsible for securing the subject. It was this contingent which had transported the subject to the purpose built facility in the basement of the Banqueting House in Whitehall. He was placed behind Perspex glass for analysis and subjection to the first method of extraction. There was a running machine, the track lined with red carpet (the researchers had a sense of humour), and there was a dashboard decorated with compromising photographs framing the screen which presented a series of increasingly difficult maths problems for the subject to solve. With every incorrect answer the researchers increased the gradient of the incline and further dialed up the thermostat.

The man was not in great shape, he was bloated with glut and privilege. The researcher’s concerns were justified, his breathing had become erratic, and his coordination was failing him. He clutched for his chest and then groaned as his legs gave way. He came thundering down upon the rails of the running machine. The facilitation team rushed into the observation chamber to check his vitals. The order came down to them to leave him on the floor and allow him some rest, they couldn’t take the risk of bringing about cardiac arrest and so would have to try a different method.

The extraction process was the culmination of years of work, meticulous planning and incredible expense. Funding had been sought from interested speculators, of which there were many. Each speculator expected a return on their investment. The prospectors and the extraction team knew they were under pressure to get results but if the subject died then any hope of obtaining the priceless ambrosia would die with him.

‘It’s impossible’, said one member of the extraction team to another. ‘His core body temperature is dangerously high, and we’ve not got one drop out of him. The fat fuck has run himself ragged but he’s as dry as a bone’.

The other researcher agreed and nodded his head, but he knew that in a matter of moments they would be asked to initiate the second protocol and attempt extraction that way. They were assured that there was more than one way to get what they needed. Despite the labyrinth of abstruse language, financial jargon and acronyms which had sprung out of the community of speculators, the commodity itself was something quite simple; a secretion of the eccrine gland consisting in a large part of H2O. Sweat. Something all people produce. All except this man. This man was special for that reason but also for another reason that was a coincidence of his birth. It was these two reasons that made this secretion precious. You see, this man claimed he could not sweat and that had created value out of scarcity. If they were able to extract any sweat at all from this man then it was believed it would hold value better than precious metals, cryptocurrencies and masterpieces of art. This was a new gold rush and once the discovery went public the value would sky rocket. The scales of justice could be tipped by the weight of just one drop of this man’s perspiration. The constitutional legitimacy of medium sized countries could be lost in the mist of his discharge. It was important therefore to have this resource safely in the hands of private collectors. They would have their price of course, whether for good or ill. The market would be the only judge. The market would be the only purveyor of justice.

As expected, the researchers were asked to experiment with more creative methods, which included triggering hyperhidrosis through exposure to the bacteria that would cause tuberculosis and fever. If that failed, they were to attempt to manipulate the subject’s hormone levels so as to cause something akin to menopause and its hot flushes. The extraction team specifically were reminded that if any of these techniques proved successful and the subject began to sweat profusely then as a condition of the agreement with investors then a volume amounting to 70% of the total was to be destroyed to ensure a minimal supply.

They would not need to though, as it was at that moment as the facilitation team were attempting to move the subject onto a medical bed, that one of them noticed a strange mark upon the subject’s jaw. Earlier when the subject had fallen it was his jaw that had smashed against the frame of the running machine. It had seemingly torn some skin from the side of his face revealing something green and scaly beneath. The researchers studied the markings closely and talked amongst themselves, during which time the subject stared on gormless.

Theories were proposed:

‘It’s another epidermal layer below his skin’.

‘It’s a structure of fibrous proteins.’

‘I can’t see any pores! Can you see pores? Take a biopsy’.

Upon hearing these discussions, the leading investor in the project stepped through the sliding doors and entered the observation chamber. The researchers all stopped to look at Prince Sheikh Al-hambra. The subject too looked up, they had once been on friendly terms, they had shared helicopter rides and discussed weapon deals but now the Sheikh held him captive.

‘What is the problem?’, he asked the researchers calmly.

One of them stepped forward, ‘He…he…he seems to have another layer of skin. Like a reptile’s skin sir. Perhaps the rumours were true.’

‘What does this mean for us?’

‘Well, it seems he wasn’t lying about the sweat, sir. You see, reptiles can’t sweat.’

The Sheikh made a phone call, to ensure a car was brought round for his immediate use. He finished the call and as he placed his phone back beneath his robes, he pulled a gun which in three quick gestures he lifted, aimed, and fired right between the eyes of the subject.

Nothing more was said. The Sheikh left. The facilitation team cleaned up and prepared to implement Protocol D which involved the participation of the Secret Service and the utilisation of a tunnel and a drunk driver. The next day the commodities market contracted by 15% and not one analyst had a credible explanation.

by Daniel Harlow

Daniel Harlow is not the author's real name. He is a writer based in the UK and is the founder and contributing editor of Fugitives & Futurists.