Cogento

By Thü and Thomas Hürlimann

...or what nasty things would you do with a superpower?

Who hasn't dreamed of possessing special abilities in order to change the world? For Vaughan Macrae, this became a surprising reality when he discovered that he might have been given the most useful gift of all. But would he actually

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ecliptic Planetary Publishing
• Release date: Sep 17, 2019
• ISBN: 9783033075023

Thü

Thü was art director of Macworld magazine, illustrator and freelance editor of Macwelt. Born in 1969 and raised in Switzerland, he later lived in South America for many years, where he mainly practiced and teached music. He currently works as an illustrator, graphic artist and web designer in Switzerland. Earlier publications include the specialist book Firmen Design & Identität, the cartoon series Fermi's View, the audio books by B.O.X. Bureau of the Unexplained, which were created in collaboration with his children, numerous computer science articles and reviews of recordings of classical musical works. Cogento is his first great novel.

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 Translated from German by Lena Blos and Thü

 English edited by Camille De Kok

The dialogues of the literary figure Richard Dawkins

were written by the author of this book.

Cogento® 1st edition 2019

WWW.COGENTO.ORG

Written by Thü

Published by Ecliptic Planetary Publishing, Switzerland

Editing & proofreading: Simona Turini, Lisa Huber, Ernst Tanner

Translation from German: Lena Blos & Th¸

English editing & proofreading: Camille De Kok

Printing & binding: Ingram LLC, La Vergne TN

Legal support: Advokatur Christian Widmer

Cover illustration, design & layout: Zugergrafik.ch

Typography: Goudy Old Style by Frederic W. Goudy

Cover logo: Goudy Old Style adaption by Thü

Made with Serif Affinity – Photo, Designer & Publisher

Cogento is a registered trademark

Copyright 2019 by Thü (Thomas Hürlimann) Switzerland

® October 2018 in public deed

novel category: utopian superhero fiction

I call it a one-small-change-reality or for short: 1cR

ISBN 978-3-033-07502-3

for my family

Nidia, Nidia Valentina, Natalie and Anthony

and for Richard Dawkins

My further thanks go to:

Baroness Onora O’Neill

Yolanda Rayo

Rand Russell

Camille de Kok

Dr. Bruno & Rosa Bischof

Cuno Schneeberger

Florian Stauber

my mother Rosemarie

my sister Barbara

once we understand

no god saves our world

we grasp its wonders

and do it ourselves

thü

I

Green Park was like another world. Here people moved mostly at a leisurely pace or they lay on the wide lawns dappled with spots of light. I preferred to sit on the wall of the monument right next to the entrance during my lunch break with a view of a part of the park where the grass grew particularly tall, making it appear even calmer and more idyllic. Leaning against one of the traditional columns, I let the contrast sink in; watching the lights gently playing on the grass while the grey, noisy everyday life prevailed on the other side; hurrying businessmen and rushing convoys of cars and red double-decker buses. At that time I had no idea that everything that people fled to the park from would soon change drastically.

For me, this peaceful interlude was over far too quickly. I put away the remains of my lunch, raised my legs onto the wall and turned to the other side. The sunlight shining through the groups of columns had done me good – especially knowing that it had been one of the last warm afternoons of the year. I rose from the cold stone blocks and looked at the long row of grey facades behind the busy road. In spite of their feudal architectural style, from a time when architecture still had a certain character, the houses had a depressing effect on me; the atmosphere of a big city under the yoke of a hectic working life.

I directed my steps onto the pavement and moved away from the park entrance, past a bus stop where I had to fight my way through a crowd of people flocking towards me. Behind it, the path was clear again, as everyone was heading towards the park – undoubtedly in order to enjoy the weather there as well. As I walked on, I noticed that the ground was still wet, and I remembered that the morning had begun cold and foggy. I hadn’t expected that I’d eat outside that day, as the sky had only cleared just before noon.

The way back to the office was always particularly boring; not only because of the view of the queues of cars and the fences along Piccadilly, but above all because of the prospect of what would await me on my return. It made the walk even longer than it actually was, the few hundred meters to the only pedestrian crossing for some distance. Although I was late, I approached the venerable baroque publishing building rather hesitantly. Above me was the huge London Times lettering as I walked up the steps and through the two marble columns to open the glass door. Actually, one should be proud of working for this internationally renowned newspaper. But it also depended on what you were contributing and frankly, I didn’t think much of my contribution in that respect.

Alec, at the Welcome Desk, made a short gesture of greeting in my direction. I pulled out my ID and held it to the sensor at the checkpoint. For years no one had actually entered here without being inspected. A group of employees from my department waited in front of the lift, but they were so absorbed in their conversation that they ignored me. In the lift we squeezed into the tight space and by now, huddled so close together, I couldn’t miss overhearing their gossip any longer.

Lucy, one of the secretaries, said, … he was beside himself about it. But what should he do? He needs the job …

One of the others replied, Sure, who doesn’t? I’m just surprised that a supervisor can do something like that. He, of all people, who’s always such a moralist …

So I had no choice but to think about the things that were being said, and then I quickly suspected who they were about. But we had arrived on our floor, left the lift and people scattered.

My route led me straight ahead, directly into the open office, through a long corridor between rows of beige partitions, behind which some concentrated working minds could be seen. Back when I had first started here, I had found it all quite depressing. Like a giant factory run by unidentified souls, and I felt like one of them. But the impression was lost as soon as I got used to the people and the business and now it didn’t seem that big anymore.

I turned right out of the hallway into my department to go straight to work. Dave, the department manager, had to see that I was there; even though I couldn’t really hope that he hadn’t yet noticed my lateness, considering how petty he was.

As soon as I entered my cubicle, I heard a voice whispering behind me, Hey, Vaughan… It was my neighbour Jack peeking at me from behind the partition wall – that remnant from the eighties. Dave was looking for you!

Sure, what a surprise, I said. Was it really too much to ask to let me get away with something for once?

Did you hear about Rowan, he whispered to me.

No, what is it? I replied.

I don’t know either. I had hoped you knew something about it. I just saw him stumbling out of the meeting room. Then he hid away at his desk – I think I heard him sobbing, but I didn’t dare disturb him.

I looked at Jack curiously and said, Who was in the meeting room with him? Maybe you should ask them.

I don’t know. I was just looking out for Rowan, he replied.

Suddenly a different voice rang out above me, Macrae, you should be working, not chatting. Especially after returning late from your break! It was Dave who, as usual, had snuck up behind my back.

I heard you were looking for me, I said.

Right, yes. Look … Dave pointed over me to my computer monitor and said, … you should put the ad with the frame on the left side, then the new one in its place instead. It fits in much better. Okay?

Will do, boss, I replied dutifully.

That was my standard reply. I used it so frequently every day that it didn’t bother me anymore that I was agreeing with him every time. It hadn’t meant my mistake, I’ll do better in the future but more like I am only doing this for an arse like you in order to keep the job. My bladder was bursting, but he kept watching me with satisfaction as I made the changes. So I had to suppress my urge to go to the loo.

Dave was a rather small, slender man. But his hair growth was impressive, dense but usually very short. His dark moustache was always slightly curled and his clothes, including a tie and waistcoat were unfailingly impeccable. He continued to stand close to me with his arms crossed and made further firm recommendations. He seemed to have all the time in the world to annoy me. When he finally withdrew, after what seemed like an eternity, I immediately went to the gents. Had it not been too conspicuous, I would have run there immediately. Instead, I simply rushed out of the open-plan office through the rows of partition walls.

Relieved, I stepped out of the men’s bathroom a little later. In front of the high mirror in the entrance hall, I straightened my t-shirt, checked the zipper of my trousers and was about to head back past the lifts when I heard something unusual. I paused and listened, hearing the same noise over and over again. Was it coming from the stairs? I walked towards it, into the stairwell. It was now a distinct sobbing and it was very close, although there was no one to be seen. But there, behind a billboard, was a door that was slightly ajar. I had never noticed it before.

Hello? Is anyone there? I whispered into the crack: It’s me… Vaughan Macrae. Do you need help?

Vaughan … no, please go away, whispered a youthful voice whilst still sobbing.

Okay, but if you need anything, let me know, okay? I thought I knew now who it was and slowly removed myself. Just as I was stepping back into the entrance hall, I was called back by a whispered voice. The door opened a little and as I approached it, a hand grabbed my arm and pulled me in. I had guessed correctly: it was Rowan. He sat in the dark storeroom on a folding ladder and looked at me with tear-filled eyes.

Jack was worried about you. Did something happen in the boardroom?

Promise me you won’t say anything, Vaughan. His voice trembled.

I squatted next to him and replied, Yes, of course. You can count on me.

Sobbing, he explained, I don’t know what to do. Everyone thinks he is such a decent guy … but he isn’t. Nobody would believe me.

You mean Dave? I said.

He looked at me in astonishment, You know about it?

Well, no, I’m just guessing …, I replied.

Dave Uttley is my superior. If I don’t please him, I’m out of here. But that can’t happen. It simply can’t …

What’s not to like about you anyway? That is just not possible, I reassured him. He had only been on our team for a few months, but he had always seemed committed to me. Undoubtedly he was also reliable, because one would have heard differently by now. Dave didn’t mince his words about such matters. Furthermore, he was a young, attractive lad and always in a good mood. What could a boss not have liked about him?

He has made a pass at me.

Now he really had trouble to continue talking and finally had to pause until he had calmed down enough to carry on, When we were alone in the room. I was sitting at the table; … suddenly he was standing above me. Firstly, he touched my shoulders. Praised me as a reliable employee. Said I could go far with him. Then his hands slowly wandered over my chest. I was paralyzed with shock. Of course I told him to stop. But he said he just wanted to show how much he appreciated me. I felt him rubbing his trousers against my neck and then his hands were suddenly everywhere, also between my legs, he … he stroked my … he started undoing my trousers … suddenly I felt this rage. I managed to get up and pushed against him with all the strength I could muster and ran away. And now? …

Even I was shocked by his description, despite the fact that I had always known there was something not right about Dave. We had all noticed what he could be like when a black woman joined our team. He didn’t like anything about her and although he was actually accused of racist remarks by Angear, Dave managed to get her to resign. The whole thing didn’t come as a huge surprise, after all he was a typical Tory. Some even suspected that he was a member of Britain First, especially since he had become so agitated about the postponement of Brexit.

As Lord Acton had once said: "Power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely." But what really bothered me was the realisation of just how little power it took. Dave’s position as head of department was only one level above me and apparently that was enough for him.

Maybe we should tell the head of HR, I suggested.

Simon has already done that, … said Rowan.

The name was not familiar to me, Simon?

He was in the advertising department. I didn’t believe him either when he complained that Dave had touched him. He even went to Mr Angear about it and then he was sacked, Rowan explained.

Horrified, I replied, This can’t be happening! How is that possible? But at least you’d be the second one to complain about it, now people can’t just dismiss it anymore…

No, Vaughan, please… this could jeopardize my job.

And if you just say that you’re not okay with Dave? Without making accusations. Just ask if they’ll move you to another department.

He put his hand on my shoulder and looked at me with a relieved smile, I feel so much better now that I have been able to talk about what happened. Maybe I should tell some of the others and you could keep an eye on Dave, what do you think?

Better than nothing, I replied thoughtfully, if it makes you feel safer. But remember, if you do not testify against him, there will be more victims.

Rowan replied gloomily, If I testify, I will become a victim twice over.

At least he let me persuade him to come out of his hiding place. And after he had somewhat refreshed himself in the men’s toilet, I accompanied him back to his desk. Of course Dave saw us arrive together. This control freak always kept track of everything. But he didn’t seem to care. On the other hand, I noticed that he didn’t show up anywhere near me anymore and Rowan told me later that he had had the same experience.

It was very convenient for me because it actually saved me from Dave’s irritating behaviour for the whole week. I tried to concentrate on the ads and enjoyed the fact that I had some peace for a change and wouldn’t have to rearrange everything again any time soon, just for the sake of rearranging. Normally Dave would get his extra pound of flesh for help from me by pretending to give advice and then expecting gratitude for it. In fact, it was just conceited fuss. So I was just grateful that he took me as an opportunity to demonstrate his religiously motivated goodness and therefore, didn’t come up with the idea that I wasn’t good enough for the job. From that point of view it was almost an advantage to have such a person as a boss. But even though I learned over time to ignore his perpetual quotations from the Bible, this kind of artificial geniality had constantly gnawed at my self-esteem. But from now on, I saw Dave with different eyes anyway.

I missed the detailed work with the letter characters. I had had something else in mind in the past rather than simply stringing advertisements together. In my department it was just about advertisements. I always thought that any other section of the newspaper would have been better for me than this one. Most of the time I only had to place the ads in a way so that all the pages were full. In layout I would at least still have had something to do with words, would control the separations and would execute corrections. You couldn’t argue too much with that, as there would be clear rules.

My original profession had been type designer – an occupation that fulfilled me much more. Lines and forms of words and letters had always fascinated me since I had discovered stamp printing and lead printing in my childhood. Back then, in Norwich, I would sometimes sneak into the shed of our neighbour, old Mr Macpherson, without permission. His grandfather used to have a printing business there and the old machines and boxes full of lead typesetting equipment were still standing around – albeit covered in dust and cobwebs.

When Macpherson caught me, he wasn’t even angry with me; on the contrary, he was pleased with my interest and showed me how everything worked. Together we organised things a little bit and he even let me work on the press. Then I became interested in designing fonts. Precise work and a good eye for forms and proportions were required, and I would spend hours working on my designs on paper or on the computer. But after my studies at the University of Reading, it turned out that I couldn’t make a living from it, despite my Master of Arts degree. So I had to take additional courses in desktop publishing.

After all, there usually wasn’t too much hustle and bustle in the ads department. You only had to work really hard and put in overtime for the editorial deadlines. Otherwise, I had plenty of time to lose myself in my thoughts. I often imagined what it would be like to work in one of the other departments. For example, to be the one who had something to say. As a journalist you could still have some adventures. My subject would be the environment or human rights. I would have to travel a lot, be on the spot when people demonstrated because an international company was digging up their water. Or do an interview with a whistle-blower who had to leave his country after he discovered that high-ranking officials were violating the constitution. Firstly, I would have to find him in his hiding place – in an exotic place or in a chaotic big city. Such adventures were very appealing to me. But in my real life, the series I watched in the evening were the closest I ever came to an adventure.

In the end, Rowan didn’t report anything to the head of HR. But pretty much everyone knew about Dave now and we wouldn’t give him the opportunity to be alone with Rowan, or anyone else. I didn’t find that at all satisfying. Wouldn’t his behaviour have any consequences at all? What kind of society did we actually live in? I swore to myself that I would ensure that justice would prevail, if I ever got a chance.

On the very day that I made this vow to myself, something happened for the very first time – at least as far as I could remember, because for the time being, I did not pay any further attention to the incident. It happened on the way home, after a long, tedious day at work. It was astonishing that my plans for the evening had not changed at all as a result. Well, it would be an exaggeration to call them plans – it was actually always the same gathering consisting of me, my sofa and the latest episodes of my current favourite series. The anticipation for these exciting evenings was what made my time in the office bearable. Can you blame me for that?

Finally the end of the working day arrived! The time of waiting was once again over, the daydreams cleared away, the last changes were saved. Dave was nowhere to be seen and so the way out of the department was clear. I meandered through the corridors of the open-plan office, past the editorial office, where a lot of people were just leaving their cubicles. Downstairs, on the street in front of the old publishing building, I picked up my bike, which I had left well secured in a nearby bicycle parking lot.

As usual, I took the alleys and back streets through Shepherd’s Market with its many pretty little cafes, restaurants and shops, before heading towards Soho. Mr White, I’m coming! But before that, the plan included a pit-stop, because I had to have a big cup of ice cream, while the chemistry teacher, Walter White, turned into the murderous drug boss Heisenberg on my screen.

Yes, I had become lazy. But there was a reason why I had withdrawn from any form of socialising. Broken heart, of course; the usual. After that I had had enough of relationships – people in general.

In Brewer Street, I left my bike leaning against the windowpane full of torn posters and entered the small, overly stocked shop. As usual, I went straight to the fridge, took my tub of ice cream and went to the checkout. There were only four or five people standing around in the narrow aisles between the racks. It took an elegant older gentleman forever to pay with his coupons and coins. The couple behind me was quickly annoyed. When I could finally move forward, I reached into the pocket of my trousers and like lightning the realisation shot hot through my head: My wallet!

Uh, I think my wallet is still in the office, I said sheepishly to the boy at the checkout. He looked at me a bit awkwardly, while he was still thinking about what to say to me – and then I spontaneously blurted out: But it’s all right, I can take it with me and pay for it tomorrow! I said that in a strange tone, almost commanding, in the vague hope that it would save me from any further effort.

His answer was another little shock for me, because I heard him say: Alright, you can take it with you and pay for it tomorrow. It seemed to me like an echo of my own voice.

Thoughtfully, I left the shop. Of course I was more or less a regular customer here, the shop was just two blocks away from my flat. But I had only seen the boy two or three times. That he would give me credit was highly improbable and the fact that he hadn’t even written it down – quite impossible.

I climbed on my bike and weaved along the streets, not always in accordance with the traffic rules, to Archer Street. After all these years, I knew the most practical way to get to my flat between parked, standing, and moving vehicles, passers-by, and along the one-way streets. I also always had to pass the small Gelateria, which was only a few blocks away and always reminded me of the reason why I didn’t buy anything there anymore.

I squeezed my bike through the front entrance of the old brick building and put it in the dark corner under the stairs, where it always smelled musty. Looking forward to the next exciting episode with Mr White, I leapt up the creaking wooden stairs. Almost without touching the treads but holding on to the banisters all the more – which caused additional creaking.

All this slowly erased the unexpected incident from my mind. Soon I could not remember the details of the rest of the evening either. There were so many of them back then, and they all seemed to be about the same – with all the TV series that in retrospect looked like fragments of another life but were actually episodes of lost time in my own life. I spent months like this, trying not to worry about the future. I had no goals, at least not since Jessica had left me.

Yes, there had been a time before, that fulfilled togetherness that I had experienced for the first time, and the time after that, which since then had spread out in me as a cold, senseless emptiness. In between, the big occurrence. I called them my epochs. And in the post-Jessica epoch I just let myself drift. Living the life that lay in front of me stoically, without thinking much, so that these unwanted feelings didn’t bubble up in me again. I realized I was damned lucky that I had never taken drugs. In my situation, you could self-destruct horribly, like Walter White’s apprentice Jesse.

But I also knew of examples from real life; of two acquaintances for whom a stroke of fate had been their downfall. For one, it was divorce. Separation from the children, financial problems, then alcohol and finally, losing his job. It took him many years to get back on his feet financially.

So I couldn’t complain. My separation, in contrast, was a triviality. However, at the beginning, she had really beaten me down. So I began to somehow pass the time with as many distractions as possible. Just don’t think too much. Work, movies, sleeping, work, movies, sleeping. Admittedly, binge-watching was also a kind of drug. It made me numb. But it actually helped. The pain continued to diminish, along with the memories. And almost without any withdrawal symptoms.

My apartment had belonged to Aunt Kate, who had died before her time because of the wrong treatment for an illness. One hundred and twenty thousand pounds was quite a large sum of money at the time she acquired it. She hadn’t managed to reduce the mortgage to less than eighty thousand pounds during the course of her life, even though she had been a good seamstress who’d had a stable job at the English National Opera. She was already working there when it was still called Sadler’s Wells. But the opera company had only ever had a modest budget, unlike the Royal Opera House, and the company’s salaries were similarly low. However, Aunt Kate’s work always filled her with such joy that she had never thought of doing anything else.

The apartment was really small and modestly furnished with some items that I had kept from my aunt. In addition to the interest on the mortgage, I couldn’t afford much, but it was enough for me just the way it was. Certainly as long as there was no family in the making.

This had become an issue with Jessica and probably, her decision was ultimately the best for me. I had never considered how I would have been able to feed a family. Maybe, if I had to, I could still generate some ambition, who knows? But I didn’t really plan to.

For a weekend for two it was just about manageable with only one room. The flat included a kitchenette, a tiny entrance, a small bathroom next to it, and I had divided the living room into a sleeping, working and seating area with the help of two partition blinds. Two old windows looking onto Archer Street provided some light, but overall the apartment was rather dark, thanks to its wood panelling. However, the atmosphere was cosy if one placed the candlesticks skilfully. No matter. I liked it. After all, it was quite clean inside, which you wouldn’t expect if you looked at the somewhat tired facade – I considered it a kind of camouflage. Another plus was that the street was relatively quiet; there was little or no passing traffic. But early in the morning this strange, mouldy smell would wake me up and bring me back to reality as soon as I left the house.

Archer Street – I liked the name because it reminded me of Star Trek. At night, people were continually walking noisily between the bars of Soho or around the corner from the Apollo Theatre or the strip clubs. There was always some kind of entertainment available and at night on the street, I noticed more and more how much people were trying to look as if they were having fun. That was enough for me – I hardly felt the need to go out myself. Some friends, especially Kyle, were getting worried and called me because they hadn’t heard from me for so long. I had to reassure them and explain that everything was fine with me, that I just needed some time on my own.

From time to time, I let Kyle talk me into a drink – actually, more for his sake than mine. He appreciated having a reason to come to the city centre of London. We talked about the old days at school and complained about how little we had been taught there – we agreed that this was not through any fault of our own but was down to the uninspiring standard of teaching. One or two bars later, our paths would diverge, and he loved to make ambiguous allusions as to where he might go afterwards.

When the weather got colder, however, we hardly ever met up. The beginning of winter was very agreeable for me. No guilty conscience about burying myself at home in this weather. I announced to my mother on the phone that I would not visit her again until spring. She lived in an old people’s home in Norwich, two hours away.

Had I still had days off from work, I would have used them to avoid having to leave the house. In this weather, you needed two layers of protection on your bike to arrive at work reasonably dry. At least the streets were less crowded.

Then it happened for the second time – as far as I knew. In the office there had been rumours for quite some time about the ailing financial situation of the publishing house and accordingly, a subliminal feeling that changes could soon occur, spread throughout the office. I was also anxious because I was well aware that I had very little savings to rely on if my income were to dry up.

In the coffee corner, I had once made a remark about it to Mrs Gill, the secretary from the advertising department. She said she had heard similar talk from many others. And when they finally asked one member of staff after another to come to the meeting room for a personal chat, everyone realized that the moment had come. I was the last in my department to be summoned, and I tried to appear as relaxed as possible as I rose from my bouncy office chair.

I imagined I was Joe MacMillan from Halt and Catch Fire, bursting with a sense of superiority and always two steps ahead of his opponent as I walked down the aisle to the meeting room. Not too fast, making sure not to appear too nervous.

The Human Resources Manager, Mr Angear and Dave were already waiting for me and asked me to sit across from them on an empty chair. Angear opened with the words, Vaughan Macrae, I suppose?

That’s right, sir, I confirmed.

Mr Macrae, I’m sure you’ve heard that we’re being forced to make personnel changes. As he said this, he glanced at the folder of documents lying on the table in front of him and pulled out some papers. You’ve been with us for several years now, and Dave here has confirmed to me that you’re doing good work. You get to keep your job.

Inside, a heavy weight immediately lifted from my shoulders. But then he went on: However, we have to reduce your workload.

The weight was back on, a little higher this time, a pressing on my throat, so that I could only squawk softly, Uh, … is that really, uh… necessary?

I’m afraid so, Dave jumped in. After all, we all want the newspaper to survive, Vaughan, he said reassuringly, it is more important than individuals like us, don’t you think?

Even though Dave was playing the serious superior as he usually did; now I knew what he was trying to hide behind this mask, I paid no attention to him.

I could already imagine what this was really about. Dave undoubtedly wanted to make an example of me, and for Angear, only the needs of the management mattered. Because, only if the numbers looked better than the year before could the executive floor continue to justify their absurdly high bonuses. All that mattered was for those up there to be able to keep leeching off the company. For this precise reason, they even tolerated the fact that the quality of the newspaper was getting worse and worse. Not that this had anything to do with me, but I knew about the staff redundancies when it came to the editorial team, and that the journalists who remained had less and less time to research their topics in any great detail. This was the main reason why there were in fact fewer and fewer subscribers and, consequently, fewer advertisers – it was not just the fault of the Internet, as was always being claimed.

That made me really angry. I knew I was better than them! Suddenly, I stood up, put my hands on the table and looked deeply into Mr Angear’s eyes as I said with a forceful tone, Not going to happen! You’re moving me to the editorial office! Absolutely insane that I should think of such a thing. Even more insane that I had dared to say it and thought they would take me at all seriously. You spend too much time watching TV, was the answer I expected to hear from them.

But Mr Angear only looked into the distance expressionlessly and then said calmly, I think we’ll move you to the editorial office.

Dave was amazed and replied, But Macrae doesn’t have any writing experience, does he, Vaughan?

He looked at me questioningly and I said spontaneously, That would be great, Dave. Don’t worry, I can do it!

His tension subsided when he said, Yeah, great, Vaughan, you can do it.

What would you like to write about? Mr Angear asked.

What would it be like if I wrote regular commentaries and reviews on trendy TV series? I couldn’t think of anything better at that particular moment.

Then it’s all settled. I’ll talk to the editor-in-chief. Mr Angear stood up and left the room. Dave followed him.

I sat there for quite a while, wondering if I had dreamt it all. It seemed so completely unrealistic to me. Did it work that way for everyone? Did one only have to be convincing and arrogant and clearly say what one wanted? Like some kind of technique known only to an initiated elite and taught in secret circles? Perhaps Angear had simply assumed that I belonged to this elite? Had Atkinson cheated his way up to editor-in-chief like this? It had long been rumoured that he had never written an informative line himself.

That seemed more logical to me than the possibility that I could order others around simply by opening my mouth. Like Parkman in Heroes – that only happens in the movies. Although, it really felt like I had control, … and it felt kind of familiar to me. When had that happened before? It took me a while to remember: Exactly! The situation in the shop, when I had had no money with me! So that could definitely have nothing to do with a secret technique for professional advancement. Had I discovered a superpower inside of me? The absolute power of persuasion? I had to test it. This was the only way I could be sure.

When I left the meeting room, I saw Mrs Gill opposite me on the way to the coffee machine. Maybe I should do a test on her? I went after her and wondered how I should proceed as her cup filled with hot coffee. Then I approached her from behind and said in a convincing tone, You are going to put twenty lumps of sugar in your coffee!

She turned to me and laughed. You are such a comedian, Vaughan. I always take my coffee unsweetened! Then she pottered off with small steps so that her very full cup wouldn’t spill over and left me somewhat disappointed. I had probably only imagined something special happening. It had all been a coincidence. After all, this was reality – not a TV series, I said to myself.

On the way to my desk, I thought about the situation in the meeting room: When I had told Angear what I wanted, Dave hadn’t been convinced. It wasn’t until I spoke to him directly that he repeated my words. Had I possibly just done something wrong? Did I perhaps have to look at the person? Look them straight in the eye to make it work?

I immediately turned around and took a right next to some cubicles belonging to the editorial department. I’d never seen Mrs Gill anywhere other than at the coffee machine, but her advertising department was up ahead. I recognized the red hair with the typical perms that older ladies’ favour; she was still standing there with the coffee in her hand and I walked up to her.

She looked at me in surprise and said, Can I help you with anything, Vaughan?

Now, I looked deep into her eyes and said sternly, You need twenty lumps of sugar in your coffee!

Her face took on an icy look and she averted her gaze. She would certainly insult me – she seemed angry! Then, she turned to the open side of her cubicle and stomped off towards the editor-in-chief.

I was sure she wanted to complain to Atkinson about me. Maybe something like that was considered harassment, bullying or whatever. I followed her. Somehow, I had to stop her, tell her it had been a ridiculous joke – that I was going through a difficult time and was a little confused and so on. But then she turned into the other row and stopped at the coffee corner.

The two staff members who were fetching their drinks at the machine were pretty upset as they watched Mrs Gill put sugar cube after sugar cube into her cup until the coffee began to overflow and the cubes formed a mountain. When she had finished, as she passed me on her way back, she said, You know, Vaughan, you have to try something new every now and then.

However, I was not quite convinced about that. Maybe she wanted to make fun of me by pretending to obey my absurd command only to complain about me afterwards. Therefore, I followed her and watched from a distance as she gradually spooned the whole cup empty.

Suddenly, a terrible thought occurred to me. One of the staff members who had observed the scene at the coffee machine just passed me, so I asked him, Hey, you saw that earlier, Mrs Gill with her sugar? She’s not diabetic or anything?

However, he just shrugged his shoulders and said, Sorry, I don’t know.

It would be unforgivable if she got into trouble because of my ill-considered experiment. I had to be sure and went over to her. As I approached her rather cautiously, she looked up and I said to her, Mrs Gill? Do you have diabetes?

No, why would you think that! Would I be eating this much sugar if I were? The answer was good enough for me and I left her with a sensation of relief.

As soon as I was back in my seat, Dave called out to me, Macrae, come here!

I got up and went to his desk by the window, where he explained to me, Of course Atkinson has the last word about your transfer, I’m sure you realize that, don’t you?

Of course, sir, I replied.

In addition, Dave said, Now go over to his office.

Atkinson, the editor-in-chief, was waiting for me there and grumbled, Sit down, Mr Macrae.

Mr Angear stood next to me at the entrance and closed the door behind me.

The editor chewed on a thick cigar. He made a serious face and pushed it into the corner of his mouth before saying in his harsh voice, Mr Angear here, our Human Resources Manager, has suggested that you write a new regular column. So honestly, how did you both come up with such an idea?

From the amused expression on his face, his next word would be either brilliant, which was unlikely, or more probably, absurd, because he was certainly aware of the fact that I had no training or experience for such a job. I didn’t even have a sample of my writing. Had I done so, that might have explained why the Personnel Manager was prepared to support me.

So I looked him in the eye and said, The idea is simply ingenious. Uncertain if it would work this time, I watched his facial expression.

His face remained expressionless for some time and made me fear that disaster was looming. But eventually, after a while, his eyes began to crease, and he started laughing. A deep, rumbling laugh, which caused his cigar to nearly fall out of his mouth, Yes, ha, ha, that is indeed brilliant!

Angear also smiled with relief and Atkinson said: Well, then show us what you can do. I’ll see you at the department tomorrow. Alright?

We shook hands and Angear said on leaving, The contract will be on your desk shortly.

That night, I didn’t care that last time the end of the episode had left me in the dark about how things were going with Mr White and that I couldn’t wait for the sequel. I was just sitting in my dark living room thinking about everything that had happened that day.

On the one hand, I knew it wasn’t really possible that I could possess such a gift, but on the other hand, the results of my tests were clear. What I had demanded did have an effect in the real world, even if it was outrageous. I could actually impose my will on other people. As incredible, surreal and unlikely as it seemed to be, it wasn’t a movie! It was real! I didn’t know why or how, but I had gained a superpower. Provided it was not just a temporary thing; it could change my life completely. It was an occurrence that would have a much more significant impact than the separation from Jessica! The momentous times in my life would, from now on, be those before, when I had been a regular guy, and the ones to come, when I had become Super-Vaughan.

Oh yes! I had to think of a name for my new self – not Super-Vaughan, of course. Maybe The Manipulator or The Influencer. No, these were too innocuous. I got up from the rumpled cushions into which I had sunk on my sofa, went over to my small desk on the wall and started my old Mackintosh computer to use the search engine for more ideas. Commander, Dr Change, Impressor, Cogent … No: Cogento, that one was good!

And a superhero would also need a disguise. A mask, a cape, a symbol on his chest. A special outfit? These disguises were always close fitting. Could I imagine what I would look like in one of them? You needed muscles, and a lot of them, otherwise the whole thing would look ridiculous. But let’s be honest; with my limp, unfit body, something like that wouldn’t