“Hypnotic,” he murmured, as though hypnotized himself.
“Mmm.”
“Tell me,” he said cheerfully, settling beside her on the cold floor, “how are we going to get out of here? The cave-in that killed McWhirter blocked the main passage.”
“Yes, I checked thoroughly. There is no way out. The radios aren’t powerful enough to get through to the team in the hotel.”
David laughed. He wanted to sound coolly detached, but his laughter was shrill. “So we’re up to our necks in the bad stuff. I hope you’ve brought an extra suicide pill.”
Caroline got up and walked to the corner of the room. For the first time, David noticed a strange-looking device in the shadows. It had a keyboard and a chunky, orange exterior. It looked like a ‘black box’ flight recorder She reached down and tore a strip of paper from the top.
“This is an Extremely Low Frequency transmitter,” Caroline said. “It can transmit and receive through solid rock. While you were with Bruce I managed to send a message and get one back, but now they’re not responding.”
“What was the message?”
“I told them McWhirter was dead, you were alive, had made contact with me, and all exits are blocked.”
David nodded. He wondered how deep they were. “And what did they say to that?”
She handed him the paper. It read:
TESTACEGIKMOQSUWYTEST###YRMSGRCVD#EVAC#2 (TWO)HOURS#RPT#2(TWO)HOURS#FNDCVR##END
“How moving. What does it mean?”
“The first part’s a test pattern. Then: ‘Your message received. Evacuation in two hours, repeat, two hours. Find cover. Message ends.’”
David’s eyes widened. “They’re not going to blast their way down, surely? They’ll bury us all.”
“Relax,” she said, taking the paper from his hand. “The demolitions expert is a friend of mine. He’s good.”
He examined his watch. “So at 7:30 p.m. we’ll be busted out. But why so soon? We can last down here a while. There are things I need to do.”
Caroline crouched and looked into his eyes. She was attempting a very serious moment, but David, who was old enough to be her father, noticed that her eyes were very, very green. “McWhirter didn’t tell you, did he? About the air.”
“What air?”
Caroline said nothing.
David took Ego from his wallet and said, “Ego, check the atmosphere.”
“It will take ten seconds,” said Ego. Caroline narrowed her eyes. She couldn’t hear Ego, but she could read David’s expression.
“Nice,” she said. “I’ve never seen a model so advanced.”
“You wouldn’t have,” he replied. “Ego is a prototype. This test is designed for travelling businessmen worried about air pollution.”
“Businesspeople. Who designed it?”
“Designed her. Me.”
“Atmospheric analysis complete,” said a little voice in his ear. “Though gaseous elements are at their normal proportions, the air contains a significant amount of dust. The dust particles are dangerously radioactive. Exposure is not recommended for longer than one hour.”
He checked his watch. When rescue came, they would have been underground for two hours. He was suddenly not so sad that McWhirter had died. An army man to the last. “It is recommended,” continued Ego, “that you log these data with an independent server for pollution liability.”
“The air,” Caroline said. “Is it still radioactive?”
David put Ego away. “Yes. We haven’t got long,” he said. “Come with me.”
“What is it?” she asked. She played her torch over the sand. The light made rainbows in the glass.
“Technology that is twenty years old, but still far in advance of anything commercially available. We called it an immersion chamber. There are two more. It’s linked to the computer.” He crouched and wiped some dirt from the glass. “You seem very interested in the technology.”
“I’m naturally curious,” she replied. Her gun was leaning against the liquid storage device in the other room, forgotten.
“You see the stuff at the bottom of the chamber? It looks like sand, but take one of those grains and look at it under a microscope and you’ll see a little robot. They look like metal bumblebees. There are billions of them. When the chamber is active, they engulf the user in a cloud. They work in unison. If the user steps forward, they will form a hard surface under each foot and allow him to move as though walking. By becoming immovable, or charging into the user, they can mimic any surface in the same way, and mimic any consistency – liquid, gas, solid – and, through vibration, temperature.”
There was a pause. In the distance, some concrete settled. “What about a knife blade?”
David shook his head. “You don’t even try to get away from that military stereotype, do you?”
“I suppose I’m a fatalist. How are you going to breathe in there?”
“There’s a mask. It’ll cover my face.” He looked at his watch. “There’s an hour and fifty minutes left.”
He took off his hat, coat and one of his jumpers. When he undid his trousers, Caroline stepped back.
“Relax,” he said. “The user goes naked. That’s what the microbots – those little robots – are configured for. When I appear in the computer, I’ll be given clothes automatically. Virtual clothes.”
David kicked off his boots and removed his coat. He removed his shirt and jeans. Disconcertingly, Caroline did not look away. “Look,” he said, “Something may go wrong. The emergency release for the chamber is that big red handle over there.” He pointed across the room. Carole shone her torch obligingly. “If you see me make two claps above my head like this –” he demonstrated – “then pull the handle. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
David smiled crookedly and entered the immersion chamber. It was the size of a coffin. When the door closed and the rest of the dark laboratory became an indistinct blur, he said, “Go,” and the dust storm began. A mask descended and he attached it to his face. The seal was airtight. By now the tiny particles were flying about him in a rage, and on the interior of the mask, a picture began to form.
The Maker of Hats
Saskia felt the sweat run down her back. It itched. Her foray into the building’s security records had come
