When the lights failed, Michaels had been moments from sending a chimpanzee to half an hour ago. He had been waiting patiently for an error because, half an hour before the scheduled trip, no chimpanzee. He patted his pockets. No torch. He sighed and relaxed in his chair. The gantry wobbled perceptibly. He heard the centrifuges slow. Below him, personnel left the chamber. He whistled a French nursery rhyme and waited for the emergency lighting.
Nothing happened.
Over the intercom, a military-sounding man said, “Attention, ladies and gentlemen. There has been a failure of the centre’s lighting. Please proceed carefully to your exits. Flashlights will be provided by your team leader. Repeat, please proceed carefully to your exits.”
Michaels was on a gantry sixty feet in the air. He couldn’t proceed safely anywhere. He watched the torch-lit procession below. The stars were at his feet. He patted his pockets. Still no torch. He would have to wait. He was confident that the repair would not take long. To pass the time, he played a game of Alphabetical Cats. “My cat is an amazing cat. My cat is an amazing, boisterous cat.”
Fifteen minutes later, when his cat was becoming difficult to recall, the light returned. Michaels started. He looked down and saw that the control area was deserted.
But there was movement near the larger centrifuge. A man was working at the terminal.
“Hey!” shouted Michaels. “Step away from that computer.”
The man looked up. From such a distance, he was unrecognisable. “Come down, Professor,” he said.
Michaels grabbed his lab coat and threw it across his shoulders. His face was flushed. Within the Nevada Center, the culture of secrecy meant that project directors were territorial creatures. Michaels was no exception. He jumped into the cage and closed the mesh. He pulled a hydraulic lever and sank to the ground. Once down, he hurried to the control platform. Keys jangled in his pockets. He found the man and swept his hands from the computer.
“I told you to take your –”
Hartfield had a gun. There was blood on his fingers. Michaels searched his face for an explanation, but saw only emptiness. “Mr Hartfield. How can I help you?”
Hartfield smiled. “That’s better. You see that I have a gun.”
Michaels raised his hands. It felt foolish. “What do you want to do?”
Hartfield stepped closer. He grinned – but it was not a grin. It was an imitation. It had no more meaning than the teeth-bearing response of Pliny, the chimp who was waiting in a cage not ten metres away. “I want you to send me back in time. Start your calculations. You have five minutes.”
David was dizzy and nauseous. The corridors were black. It was reminiscent of the bombing back in 2003, although there was no smell of panic in the air. Twice they ducked away at the sound of boots. It was not difficult to avoid detection. The guards were leading groups of scientists, not hunting for fugitives. Perhaps they would begin a search when they realised that three people – no, four including Hartfield – were missing.
Jennifer led the way behind the infra-red eye of Ego. Saskia was in the middle and David at the rear. Saskia held both their hands, bridging the gap. She pulled faster than David wanted to walk.
“Are we there yet?” he moaned.
“Shh,” replied Saskia as Jennifer pushed them against a wall. A guard marched past with a trail of personnel in high spirits.
To David’s relief, they reached the stairs moments later. They crept carefully down.
He found the steps problematic, even with Saskia and Jennifer tucked under each armpit. The slope of the staircase fought to become the true horizontal. He stumbled twice. On the second occasion he twisted his ankle.
When they neared the bottom of the stairs, Ego’s screen became dark. They were blind. David whispered, “Ego? What’s happening?”
Some words appeared on the screen: “System is busy. Please stand by.”
Saskia said, “Busy doing what?”
“Ego,” David said. “Stop being busy. Ego? That’s an order.”
Nothing happened.
“Should we wait?” Jennifer asked.
“We could turn it on and off,” Saskia suggested.
There was a beep and the infra-red view reappeared. Ego said aloud, “Task completed.”
“What task?” David demanded.
Ego did not answer.
“Come on, we may be too late,” Jennifer said.
They emerged onto the ground floor corridor. Ahead of them was an airtight door. Jennifer located a panel and pressed it with her palm. A dazzling bar of light swept under her hand. A green light came on. It was small, but illuminated their section of the corridor. David looked at the two women.
“Nice to see you again. Shall we go in?”
“Wait,” Saskia said. She withdrew Hartfield’s gun and handed Jennifer her shoulder bag. “Stay here. I’ll call you in.”
Jennifer touched the green light. The lock rolled audibly and the door began to open on a vertical hinge. David was reminded of a bank vault, but beyond was a cavernous enclosure. The light was blinding.
She stepped through. The gun followed her gaze. The cavern was enormous. The roof was thirty or forty metres above, adorned with daylight panels that provided diffuse illumination. Aside from a metal catwalk, the walls were bare. The ground, however, was littered with countless and unidentifiable pieces of machinery.
Immediately to her left and right were buildings surrounded by wire and danger signs. They had exhaust chimneys that extended to the roof. They were electricity-producing plants. The road continued between them towards a walled area. Because her position was slightly elevated, she could see over the wall. There was a large spinning arm inside. It was almost stopped. Beyond the centrifuge was another, smaller arm. It did not turn.
Saskia hurried forward and crouched behind a buggy. The sound of the electrical plants and the spinning arm masked any noise. Hartfield might appear from anywhere. She ran over to right-hand plant and sheltered by its fencing. She put her finger on the trigger. She continued her zigzag until she reached the wall of the centrifuge. Through a transparent panel she saw it flash past.
