Percivious: Insomnia

By Jennifer Cook and AJ Cook

An insomnia pandemic is sweeping the globe, leaving people unable to function and society on the brink of collapse . . .

Dr. Cooper Delaney believes he has the answer: Noctural, a new sleep aid—one with absolutely no side effects—which in early testing shows 100 percent effectiveness.

The only problem is that it doesn’t work. With no warning. No explanation.

Unable to accept the drug’s inexplicable failure and unwilling to concede to the competition, lines are crossed, ethical boundaries are pushed to the breaking point, and disturbing realizations come to light that could completely unravel civilization as we know it . . . and throw into question humanity’s place in the universe.

A jet-set medical thriller meets sci-fi adventure with an unforgettable cast of characters, "Percivious: Insomnia" presents an alternate history so compelling that it could possibly be true. The first book in the Percivious Trilogy from husband-wife author duo J J Cook and A J Cook, MD, "Percivious: Insomnia" sets a unique and original course for fiction of the future, and paints a timely, prescient portrait of today’s globalized society . . . and what may exist beyond the realm of our current understanding.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jennifer Cook
• Release date: Nov 16, 2021
• ISBN: 9781777377427

Jennifer Cook

J J Cook’s background in marketing across a spectrum of industries—technology, finance, and the arts—brings insight and depth to characters spanning an array of disciplines, ages, countries, and cultures.A J Cook’s current role as a pediatric urologist and director of fellowship education at the Alberta Children’s Hospital has allowed him the opportunity to author and contribute to numerous published studies and hone his writing skills, while his experience as a surgeon—as well as the relationships he’s developed with his young patients and their guardians—has contributed credibility and realism to the narrative.

Book preview

Percivious: Insomnia cover

Praise for

Percivious: Insomnia

The Cooks’ impressive SF medical thriller, the first of a trilogy, overflows with intriguing ideas. The main plot focuses on a new wonder sleep drug, Noctural, which runs into a snag. Despite successful preliminary trials, Noctural fails to work for a test subject with chronic insomnia and other people suffering from sleep deprivation. Figuring out why falls to a researcher for the Big Pharma company behind the medication. Other story lines are less conventional. One involves Human Pinnacle Theory, which posits that humans have reached the pinnacle of their evolution, and thus are at risk for extinction because of an inability to adapt to Earth’s changing environment. Another centers on a secret U.S. government dossier revealing that ancient humanoid cousins existed along with the dinosaurs and were the dominant life form at the time. Before leaving the planet, they created a DNA time capsule that led to the evolution of homo sapiens. The Cooks, a married couple, alternate between the plot threads easily. Michael Crichton fans will look forward to the sequel.

—Publishers Weekly

"The Cooks, a husband-and-wife team, begin a trilogy with this hybrid of corporate-charged medical thriller and SF alien tale . . . While the material is related in Dan Brown–esque minichapters, the emphasis is less on exciting chases (though there is a humdinger, set in Paris) and more on deep dives into character motivations and relationships, complete with a shoutout to The Great Gatsby. Results echo both Zenna Henderson’s The People collections and John Farris’ Fury series as well as numerous other upscale SF entries in which superman-hood does not necessarily mean capes and Kryptonite or flashy special effects . . . Invested readers will be kept up at night waiting for more. An intelligent SF tale with a high-stakes big pharma backdrop and skillful character development."

—Kirkus Reviews

"In medical doctor A J Cook and J J Cook’s science fiction thriller Percivious Insomnia, mindbending scientific theories and complicated media and government relationships could lead to the destruction of the species . . . The book covers scientific theories and journalism practices using familiar language and necessary exposition, making it both accessible and relevant. [The] cinematic style breaks the book’s complex information into chronological, concise portions and results in a quick pace. [An] exciting science fiction thriller."

—Foreword Reviews

"Read about a different pandemic with Percivious: Insomnia. In the first book in the trilogy, nobody can sleep and insomnia is sweeping the world. The drug that had done so well in test trials, stopped working. There is a race for a real cure, and lines are crossed. This novel hooks you from the beginning and you won’t be able to close your eyes until it is finished."

—Geeks of Doom

Also by

J J Cook and A J Cook, MD

Percivious: Origins

Percivious: Escape

Percivious: Insomnia title page

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Copyright © 2021 by J J Cook & A J Cook

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Published by AJ JJ Publishing, Calgary, AB Canada

Percivious.com

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Edited and designed by Girl Friday Productions

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Cover design: Emily Weigel

Project management: Dave Valencia

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Image credits: cover © Adobe Stock/alswart; Adobe Stock/Giacomo

ISBN (paperback): 978-1-7773774-1-0

ISBN (hardcover): 978-1-7773774-5-8

ISBN (audio): 978-1-7773774-0-3

ISBN (e-book): 978-1-7773774-2-7

Percivious (per-siv-e-us)

Noun

The ultimate in altruism. Self-sacrifice in order to benefit others with no regard to reward or reciprocity.

Chapter 1

Cooper Delaney

5:47 a.m. Clock Tower Condo, NYC

Cooper ran his hands through his dark, wavy hair as the first rays splayed across his unshaven jaw, forcing him to squint against their indefensible assault. It had been three nights of the same dream. The same thing every time. What did his sister always say? The best way to end a recurring dream was to tell someone about it? It seemed so stupid in the light of day, yet so familiar and concrete while he slept.

Unfortunately, lingering in bed thinking about dreaming was a luxury Cooper could ill afford. Although he had been with Proteus for eight years, he still felt a pang of guilt if he showed up after his supervisor.

His military father had left behind a lasting impression; reflecting on one’s dreams had not been part of the routine. There was no time for daydreaming either. In fact, it was entirely possible that his father would have tried to give orders as to when, how, and what the entire Delaney household dreamt had he been able to take control of both day and night. He would have come up with some military name for it, like twenty-four-hour mandatory dream compliance or some other crazy term. Cooper could just picture the daily dream schedule taped to the fridge for every day of the week, with each of their names at the top.

With a smile on his face, he lazily stepped his athletic, six-foot-three frame into the shower, laughing to himself about his father’s response to his dreams about Hailey Swanson in the tenth grade. Hell, maybe the old man would have even approved had he still been around.

Cooper was a contradiction. His good looks should have been intimidating, almost otherworldly, but when he smiled, the warmth that radiated made you feel you had known him your whole life. He stopped conversations when he laughed—everyone wanted in on the story. In contrast, his default expression was a look of superiority, like he knew something you didn’t even know about yourself. Fortunately, it was filtered by boyish concern and delight frequently enough that almost everyone found it impossible to dislike him. Luckily for Cooper, he had been born XY. Had he been female, there would have been too many haters to count.

Walking into his office, he was surprised to find that the lights were already on. They were sensor-activated, which meant someone had come in looking for him. Cooper was disappointed. He was usually the first man in, especially on Monday mornings. His phone went off in his pocket. The text from Jon read: Come upstairs once you get in.

Jon Cameron had been the director of research for five years before he and Cooper met. Cooper’s reputation, even as a student, made him top of the class and bottom of the recruitment list at the same time. He was all attitude, a class clown, but it was hard to argue with his grades. No one ever thought he would go on to save the world. Selling out to a pharmaceutical company seemed a perfect fit. Jon recruited him with an offer Cooper couldn’t refuse; it had been all dollars and cents to him at the time.

Only lately had he started to wonder about the impact his inventions were having on society. We can’t prevent cancer, but we can father a child at ninety. Lately, he pondered the impact of selling out, how in most cases money and values sat in opposition—reluctant guests at either end of life’s dining table.

Riding in the elevator to the thirty-first floor and walking down the glass corridor through the twelve-foot double-door entry was something Cooper had done only four times before. Usually for a promotion or bonus and only once to get chewed out. Today he felt the odds were in his favor. Since breaking up with his latest girlfriend, he’d spent evenings and weekends working on the most recent addition to the Proteus family instead. After months of testing, Noctural had become the forerunner as this year’s drug of choice. A sleep aid with no side effects—no aftertaste, drowsiness, dependency, or reduced effectiveness over time. In phase-three trials, participants responded favorably, and shareholders even more so.

Glad you’re here. We have a problem. This was Jon’s greeting from behind his new-age desk—a desk so oversized it fell beyond intimidating into the absurd and then back again to intimidating once Jon stood up and started barking. He wasn’t one for ergonomics or modest surroundings. The only things seemingly out of place were the three sheep sculptures standing in the corner.

Jon effortlessly dwarfed everyone; even Cooper was forced to look up at him, literally. Jon was overpowering and impressive rather than attractive or good-looking.

People of either sex seemed to give way to his proportion, accepting the total package rather than carefully inspecting his individual features. Most people would describe him as handsome, yet piecemeal he was average, with deep-set, dark eyes, thin lips, and a receding hairline. Jon was vain when it came to his hair. No matter how many times Carlos tried to blend out his grey, Jon would have none of it. The result was a LEGO effect. Jon’s hair looked as if you could pop it off his scalp and change it up with a new color, if only you could reach his head.

Jon liked everything to happen exactly to plan—his plan, which meant grand, larger than life. Anything deemed impossible Jon made his mission to bring to fruition. If you needed a mountain moved yesterday, he was your man. No one could parallel his connections, track record, or funding. He had kept Proteus in first place for the past eight years, and in doing so, had made himself a fortune.

Now in front of him stood his rising star, the lead on his most promising trials, the real game changers. The kid was a cocky asshole with as much arrogance as brains. Jon had seen it all and was actually amazed by the kaleidoscope of individuals the field attracted. At the end of the day though, it was binary—all that mattered were the results. The packaging was just that, a simple amusement, especially in this case. Yes, that was it, he decided. He found Cooper amusing.

Cooper misread the hint of a smile that played on Jon’s lips as sarcasm and was relieved despite the concerning opener.

A problem? Whose ass needs saving? Bertram? Radcliff?

Yours! Jon fired back.

Any trace of humor escaped his face and demeanor. Despite his appreciation of Cooper’s intelligence, there were times when Jon wished he was one of the nerdy types he could depend on to be intimidated—one of the skittish introverts who would say something stupid and leave at the first chance. How was he going to get across to this kid that his arrogance would be the only thing holding him back? Cooper’s misplaced confidence wasn’t just a character flaw, it was an attitude that would eventually seep into his work. Perhaps it already had.

You remember meeting Malcolm Schwartz at the centennial benefit last year?

Yeah—old guy. Works over at Genetech.

That ‘old guy’ is the head of genetic research. He’s likely the smartest individual on the planet and laughs at us over here every day making our ‘candy.’ He has my utmost respect and trust, which is why, last week when he mentioned the chronic insomnia he suffers from, I offered him your ‘wonder drug.’ After he had the ingredients dissected and deemed safe for human consumption, he joined our trial.

And the problem?

The problem is that it didn’t work.

That’s impossible. It works. One hundred percent, it works.

Oh, of course; my mistake. You’re right. There must be something wrong with Malcolm. It couldn’t be your test drug, still in trial.

That’s right—it’s him. Not the drug.

A look of pain contorted Jon’s face. The simple amusement had just crossed over to insolent little shit.

Just let me test him.

I called you up here to get that drug back in the lab, not to test Malcolm. In retrospect, I should have called in Bertram or Radcliff to save your ass.

Give me his number. There is nothing wrong with that drug.

Jon laughed. You know, if it was anyone other than Malcolm, I would never do this. He is going to eat you up . . .

Chapter 2

Catherine Dumont

6:59 p.m. Mount Sinai Hospital, NYC

The light at the end of the hall was her beacon; it always welcomed her home—a secret telegraphy developed over years of working together. If the reading lamp was on, regardless of the hour, the invitation was clear. Otherwise, she made her way down to the parkade alone. Impending weather made that soft glow even more comforting this night as she began the 3.2-minute walk past the adjoining offices.

She walked past each room filled with children’s artwork, toys, and testing equipment. Her footfalls made little sound, disguised by the muted industrial carpeting; however, she always hesitated just prior to interrupting Will. Just watching him work was an exhilarating experience for her, impossible to describe or admit to anyone.

To everyone other than Catherine, Will Maelish would have been average looking at best, a four maybe. Five was a stretch. His hunched frame had surpassed thin to verge on emaciated. Will’s salt-and-pepper hair left one to wonder what the original shade might have been. His sallow complexion was rivaled only by his sunken cheeks. His glasses hid dark circles beneath watery blue eyes frequently rimmed with red, due to the self-imposed late nights he spent at his desk. Will’s work meant everything to him, and Will meant everything to Catherine.

Through her eyes, he became a glorious hero. In him, she could find no fault. In many ways, Catherine was the physical opposite of Will. She was a foot and a half taller and outweighed him by at least fifty pounds. Her untamed black curls had the run of her face, held back only by her reading glasses. Catherine’s uniform consisted of floral-print maxi dresses—long sleeve for the cooler months and elbow length in the summer—which she alternated with the four pairs of shoes and sandals she owned in varying shades of black and brown.

You heard the forecast for tonight? Her question broke the silence, creating the familiar tension that hung in the room.

Indeed. Looks like we are in for quite a storm.

Are you finding any correlation between groups?

It’s too early to tell, Will said, frowning. But it looks like the numbers may be there to support our theory. The kids in group A simply do not show the regular symptoms leading up to the diagnosis, at least from what I am seeing.

Let’s say that the theory does hold some weight, and that what we are actually witnessing is an epidemic, not just a bunch of kids misbehaving . . .

Then we have to start searching for answers, Catherine.

Chapter 3

Malcolm Schwartz

4:45 p.m. Genetech, NYC

Do you believe in God, Mr. Cooper? Malcolm’s deep voice echoed through the cavernous hall that connected his private lab to the general-testing facilities. He liked to play the acoustics to his advantage, especially the syncopated rap of his walking stick pounding against the marble floor. He embodied the troll beneath the bridge with eyes as big as saucers, and a nose as long as a poker. His height together with his dark features, distinguishably teased white hair, and menacing demeanor had earned him a beastly reputation despite his age; few dared stray down his hall without good reason.

Jon had warned Malcolm of this one—of his arrogance but also his smarts. Regardless, this would be a quick and meaningless interruption, he assured himself. He predicted it would take about three minutes to scare the boy off.

It’s Cooper. Cooper is my first name.

I see. Hell of a strange first name if you ask me. So, do you believe in God, Cooper? Malcolm mustered up the most intimidating face he was capable of, one that punctuated his superior position and seniority within their world.

No, I am a man of science.

Lots of the best minds believe in a higher power, something larger than you and me. Perhaps not in a conventional God but in the existence of something beyond ourselves.

Aliens? Parallel universes?

No, I mean unexplainable coincidences.

There is always an explanation.

Always?

Yes.

Well, then, you will have no problem explaining the failure of your latest wonder drug, Malcolm said, watching for a flicker of shame to betray the confident set of Cooper’s jaw.

Let’s talk about that. How long have you been taking Noctural? Cooper replied without missing a step.

"For six weeks. I was excited to try it—and not because I can’t sleep. I can fall asleep without any issue. It is the quality of sleep that’s the problem. I wake up feeling more tired than when I drifted off. I need something that is going to really knock me out. When I mentioned that fatigue had become an ongoing problem, Jon invited me to try your Noctural. I declined, of course, because I loathe medication. Never use it. But the fact is that this has become a chronic issue. It started about eight months ago, and it just keeps getting worse."

Are you taking any other medications?

No, not a thing. Not even coffee.

Then it must be genetic variation.

I know the odds of that. Please remember where you are, boy. Malcolm had grown tired of Cooper’s arrogance, although he had to admit, he admired his nerve.

Maybe it’s a cytochrome P450 issue. The liver cells are packed full of enzymes responsible for metabolizing everything: drugs and toxins, including alcohol. Have you ever found that people can drink more than you despite similar height and weight?

Yes, junior, just to whom do you think you are talking? Any novice can identify P450. Don’t you think it would have shown up a little sooner than age sixty-seven if that were the case?

Not necessarily. As you know, all of us change with time, especially in terms of our metabolism. I suggest measuring metabolic output as you sleep.

A sleep test? Ha! Good idea. I’ll remember my teddy bear and favorite pajamas. A colossal waste of my time.

Humor me, sir. I would bet my life that you are just as curious for the answer as I am.

Just make sure the bed isn’t some gurney. If I can actually get to sleep, I want it to be a good one.

Chapter 4

Sean Irwin

10:57 a.m. AMA Conference Center, NYC

Pushing his way through the swarm that comprised the media gallery was easily the worst thing he had been made to do in his twenty-eight-year career. Sean’s calling was research. It had always been research. It was his life, his passion. Until recently, he could focus exclusively on his work without interruption or compromise. He would never have guessed that this commitment would lead him astray.

Sean never dreamt that his success would create a frenzy, forcing him into a spotlight filled with people and professions he knew little or nothing about. Sean’s immediate response was a bitter resentment of the attention, but he also understood the significance of his findings and accepted that he had no choice. The world deserved the truth, no matter how many times, voices, or languages it would take to deliver the message.

Identifying his colleague locked in what appeared to be a painful exchange with Mandolin Grace from the Times, Sean quickened his step. He hoped to save poor Barnett from her ceaseless inquisition.

My apologies, Ms. Grace, I believe we are ready to begin. You will have to excuse us, my dear, he said politely, while quickly ushering Barnett through the perfumed-versus-sweat-enhanced crowd and away from her machine-gun questioning.

Your timing is impeccable as always, my friend, said a grateful Barnett. Despite their shared age, he had always relied on Sean to take the lead. Sean was the natural leader, with his slim, well-dressed stature and clean-cut, sandy hair making him seem taller and smarter than he actually was.

Barnett knew he could never compete. Today would be no exception. He smiled to himself as they both made their way to the podium, glad to be the man behind the scenes—scenes that had rapidly exploded in size and significance.

Dr. Irwin, we are ready for you, shouted a close-shaven man with a headset; his words were barely audible above the deafening buzz. Sean glanced at Barnett. They shared a moment’s recognition of fear mixed with exhilaration and perhaps a bit of sadness for what used to be a simple existence.

The room was packed, filled with everyone from physicians to astrologers, politicians to, of course, the media. As they both took their seats at center stage awaiting the introduction, Sean couldn’t help but anticipate the inevitable response to their findings.

. . . without need for further introduction, please welcome Dr. Sean Irwin, pioneer of Human Pinnacle Theory.

Chapter 5

Will Maelish

10:38 a.m. Icahn Charter School, NYC

The modern merry-go-round spun with such speed that its primary colors blurred like a kaleidoscope. As Will approached, he could make out the tops of heads pressed against small hands, tight against the top bars. The slowly diminishing rotation had little impact on the screams and laughter exhaled by the ride’s enthusiastic passengers.

He could not help the smile that started on his lips as he momentarily drifted back in time to his own early days. In contrast to both the children at play and the ones from the past in his head, he saw Albert Xavier, the boy he was looking for, sitting alone at the side of the school door’s concrete steps.

Albert was small, pale, and fragile; he reminded Will of himself at that age. His slight build, blond locks, and haunted blue eyes made him a target for bullies. His ADHD didn’t help. Perhaps the bond had stemmed only from being reminded of his own childhood, but there were times when Will felt it was something more. Albert had a way of connecting, a way of understanding other people that Will had never witnessed before.

Will walked on through the playground toward the young boy. Once it became obvious to little Albert that Will sought him out, he began to fidget slightly but managed to stay put. They had developed not trust but more of a pact over the past eighteen months. He would tolerate Will’s requests, which he had learned were often followed with rewards, as long as Will didn’t get too close and the job didn’t take too long.

How come you are over here on your own, Albert? Do you not feel like playing? Will gently probed.

I’m on a timeout, he replied. I have to wait for the bell to ring.

I see, answered Will, no stranger to Albert’s socialization issues. Well, I am here to ask for your help with something. You see, I am not quite finished with the work we started.

Albert turned up to him with a look that melted Will’s test-tube heart. Will wished he could do more to help him; it seemed almost cruel to run test after test, with his research findings being the only outcome. Perhaps his work would have an impact indirectly; he just feared it would come too late.

Yes, you see I am hoping you will agree to continue on with our meeting time twice a week. It would really help me out. Do you think that would be possible?

It saddened Will to think that Albert’s mother had been too busy to schedule a meeting and instead had asked Will to meet Albert at school. It put Albert’s teacher in an awkward position, but in the end, she decided it was best to help the boy in any way she could. Will could feel her eyes on them as he sat next to the boy, the cold of the concrete seeping through his khaki pants.

I’ll think about it, little Albert replied, but his small smile betrayed his decision.

Chapter 6

Malcolm Schwartz

8:55 a.m. Proteus, NYC

A lone raven sat perched on the outstretched arm of Sir Isaac Newton. Malcolm had been idly studying the statue as he waited to be called into the adjoining examination room. He couldn’t help but think that Sir Newton was an ironic choice of subject for a courtyard statue—a fellow insomniac, nonetheless. He found the role reversal unnerving, himself now the lab rat, and considered his participation in the sleep test a very poor decision, especially now, as he sat in his grey/green gown.

A muddy sky met the concrete spires of the Proteus research facilities. The overall scene from his perch was like a black-and-white movie. Figures in white lab coats against the bare