They’d been over this before, but Dreyfus still needed his memory jogging.
“Like what?”
“An explosive device, for instance. We’re confident the Clockmaker couldn’t have got antimatter inside it, but there might be conventional explosives or spring-loaded cutting mechanisms concealed in the structures we haven’t been able to map.”
“Enough to hurt Jane?”
“Easily. You’ve seen what it managed to build into some of those clocks. If we can get the scarab on the other side of some kind of blast screen, no harm will befall the patient. That’s how we’ll kill two birds, Tom.”
“Two birds? I’m not sure what you mean.”
Demikhov tapped a finger against one of the diagrams. Dreyfus had the vague impression that he’d seen this picture a hundred times without ever paying it due attention. It was a cross section of the chamber in which Jane floated.
“You’ll have noted this ring-shaped duct running around the bubble,” Demikhov said.
“I assumed…” But Dreyfus trailed off. He hadn’t assumed anything, beyond the fact that the ring-shaped structure was nothing to do with the bubble itself.
“We installed that duct, Tom. We opened up that space because one day we feared we might need to proceed with Zulu.”
“What’s in it now?”
“Nothing: it’s just an empty ring encircling the bubble. But everything we need to install in it is stored elsewhere in Panoply, ready to go.”
“Show me.”
Demikhov tapped a finger and the diagram tilted around so that they were looking down on the bubble and the ring instead of seeing them in cross section. A series of modular structures were shown being inserted into the ring through a single opening, then pushed around until they joined up to form a kind of thick, barbed necklace.
“What is it?”
“A guillotine,” Demikhov said, matter-of-factly.
“When the structures are in place, they’ll project those bladed segments through the wall of the sphere. We’ve weakened the outer wall where they need to cut through, so there’s no need to do anything on the inside of the bubble. It’ll happen very quickly. The segments will close in and bisect the chamber in two-tenths of a second: well inside our margin of error.”
The diagram flipped back around to cross-sectional form. A figure appeared, floating in the middle of the chamber. A red line bisected the figure’s neck. The blades sprang through the wall, severing the figure’s head from its body. The head floated up into one half of the bisected space. The decapitated body floated down into the other half.
“We cut high enough to remove the scarab,” Demikhov said.
“We bisect between the submaxillary triangle and the hyoid bone. If we’re lucky, we get a clean separation of the third and fourth cervical
vertebra. The scarab goes into the lower half. Even if it blows up, the blades will have interlocked to form a blastproof shield.”
“What about Jane’s body?” Dreyfus said.
“We don’t care about the body. We’ll grow her a new one, or fix any damage the old one sustains. Then we re-attach the head. But the head’s the most important thing. Provided we get a clean decapitation, she’ll live.”
Dreyfus knew he was missing something.
“But you still need to get a surgical team in there somehow. She needs to be prepped for the procedure.”
“No, she doesn’t.”
“I’m not following.”
“We don’t prep Jane, Tom, because we can’t. We can’t anaesthetize her because that’s exactly what the scarab’s waiting for. And if she knows what’s coming her stress levels are going to shoot through the roof. The only way this will work is if we go in fast, without warning.” Demikhov nodded at Dreyfus’ reaction.
“You see it now, I think. You understand why this has only ever been an option of last resort.”
“This is a nightmare. This can’t be happening.”
“Listen to me,” Demikhov said urgently.
“Jane’s had eleven years of living hell inside that chamber. Nothing we can do to her to get rid of the scarab even begins to stack up against that. She’ll have no warning, and therefore she’ll have no time to get scared. When the blades close, the upper half of the chamber is ours. Then we send in a crash surgical team, ready to stabilise Jane and put her under.”
“How long?”
“Before the team goes in? Seconds. That’s all. We’ll just need confirmation that the hemisphere’s really clear, that the scarab hasn’t left any surprises, and in we go.”
“Jane will still be conscious at that point, won’t she?” The question troubled Demikhov visibly.
“There’s anecdotal evidence… but I really wouldn’t put too much store by it. The shock of blood loss is just as likely to plunge her into deep unconsciousness within five to seven seconds. Clinical death, if you like.”
“But you can’t guarantee that. You can’t promise me that she won’t have awareness after those blades have closed.”
“No,” Demikhov said.
“I can’t.”
“She has to be told, Doctor.”
“She’s always made it clear that we don’t need her consent to attempt an extraction.”
“But this isn’t the same as sending in a servitor to disarm the scarab,” Dreyfus protested.
“This is a completely different form of intervention, one that’ll probably involve pain and distress above and beyond anything Jane’s ever expected to endure.”
“I agree wholeheartedly. I also think that’s exactly why we can’t breathe a word of this to her.” Dreyfus looked at the diagram again. He recalled the red line cutting through Jane’s neck, just above the point where the scarab was attached.
“The position of those blades is fixed, right? You can’t steer them if she’s not floating at the right height?”
“That’s correct.”
“So how will you be able to cut in the right place?”
“We mount a laser on the door. It’s small enough that she won’t notice it. The laser draws a line across Jane, indicating where the blades will pass.”
“Cut. That’s the word you’re looking for.”
“Thank you, but I’m fully aware of what we’re contemplating here. I’m not taking any of this lightly.”
“And what happens if the line doesn’t hit her in the right spot?”
“We wait,” Demikhov said.
“She bobs up and down. Sometimes she does it herself, paddling the air.
Sometimes it’s just currents in the chamber, pushing her around. But sooner or later that line’s going to touch the right spot.” He looked hard at Dreyfus.
“My hand will be on a trigger. It’ll be my call as to when the blades go in, not some machine’s. I have to feel it’s the right moment.”
“What about the crash team?”
“I’ve arranged for three shifts. There’ll always be one team on stand-by.” Dreyfus felt numb. He could see the logic. He didn’t have to like it.
“Have you spoken to the other seniors?”
“They’ve been informed. I have their consent to proceed.”
“Then you don’t need mine.”
“I don’t need it, but I want it. You’re closer to Jane than anyone else in the organisation, Tom. Even me.
From the word go it’s always been clear to me that I’d need your permission before I go ahead with this. She trusts you like an only son. How many other field prefects have Pangolin?”
