his body didn't allow him to say any more.
One of the stewardesses bolted from the cabin, leaving the door swinging so Fallow could see the array of instrumentation blinking away. She pushed her way up to a window, then exclaimed, 'My God! He was right!'
The whole planeload turned as one. Fallow looked passed Irvine's white, shaking face into the vast expanse of blue sky. The snowy clouds rolled and fluffed like meringue, but beyond that he could see nothing. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a shadow moving across the field of white. At first he wondered if they had narrowly avoided a collision with another plane, but the shadow seemed too long and thin; it appeared to have a life of its own. There was a sound like a jet taking off and then the colour of the clouds transformed to red and gold. A belch of black smoke was driven past the window.
Fallow rammed Irvine back in his seat and craned his neck to search the sky. Beside and slightly below the plane, flying fast enough to pass it with apparent ease, was something which conjured images from books he had read in the nursery. Part of it resembed a bird and part a serpent: scales glinted like metal in the morning sun on a body that rippled with both power and sinuous agility, while enormous wings lazily stroked the air. Colours shimmered across its surface as the light danced: reds, golds and greens, so that it resembled some vast, brass robot imagined by a Victorian fantasist. Boned ridges and horns rimmed its skull above red eyes; one swivelled and fixed on Fallow. A second later the creature roared, its mouth wide, and belched fire; it seemed more a natural display, like a peacock's plumage, than an attack, but all the passengers drew back from the window as one. Then, with a twist that defied its size, it snaked up and over the top of the fuselage and down the other side.
Shock and fear swept through the plane, but it dissipated at speed. Instead, everyone seemed to be holding their breath. Fallow looked around and was astonished to see that faces that had earlier been scarred with cynicism or bland with dull routine were suddenly alight; to a man or woman, they all looked like children. Even the stewardesses were smiling.
Then the atmosphere was broken by a cry from the aft: 'Look! There's another one!'
In the distance, Fallow saw a second creature dipping in and out of the clouds as if it were skimming the surface of the sea.
Fallow slumped back in his seat and looked at Irvine coldly. 'Everything will be back to normal in a few days,' he mocked in a singsong, playground voice.
May 2, 11 a.m.; Dounreay Nuclear Power Station, Scotland:
'I just don't know what they expect of us!' Dick McShay said frustratedly. He threw his pen at the desk, then realised how pathetic that was. At 41, he had expected a nice, easy career with BNFL, overseeing the decommissioning of the plant that would stretch long beyond his life span; a holding job, no pressures apart from preventing the media discovering information about the decades of contamination, leaks and near-disasters. Definitely no crises. He fixed his grey eyes on his second-in-command, Nelson, who looked distinctly uncomfortable. 'I have no desire to shoot the messenger, William, but really, give me an answer.'
Nelson, who was four years McShay's junior, a little more stylish, but without any of his charisma, sucked on his bottom lip for a second; an irritating habit. 'What they want to do,' he began cautiously, 'is make sure most of Scotland isn't irradiated in the next few weeks. I don't mean to sound glib,' he added hastily, 'but that's the bottom line. It's these power failures-'
McShay sighed, shook his head. 'Not just power, William, technology. There's no point denying it. Mechanical processes have been hit just as much. I mean, who can explain something like that? If I were superstitious…' He paused. '… I'd still have a hard time explaining it. The near-misses we've had over the last few weeks…' He didn't need to go into detail; Nelson had been there too during the crazed panics when they all thought they were going to die, the cooling system shut-downs, the fail-safe failures that were beyond anyone's comprehension; yet every time it had stopped just before the whole place had gone sky-high. He couldn't tell if they were jinxed or lucky, but it was making an old man of him.
'So we shut down-'
'Yes, but don't they realise it's not like flicking off a switch? That schedule is just crazy. Even cutting corners, we couldn't do it.'
'They're desperate.'
'And I don't like them being around either.' He glanced aggressively through the glass walls that surrounded his office. Positioned around the room beyond were Special Forces operatives, faces masked by smoked Plexiglas visors, guns held at the ready across their chests; their immobility and impersonality made them seem inhuman, mystical statues waiting to be brought to life by sorcery. They had arrived with the dawn, slipping into the vital areas as if they knew the station intimately-which, of course, they did, although they had never been there before. For support, they said. Not, To guard. Not, To enforce.
'All vital installations are under guard, Dick. So they say. It's all supposed to be hush-hush-'
'Then how do you know?'
Nelson smirked in reply. Then: 'We might as well just ignore them. It's their job, all that Defence of the Realm stuff.'
'What are they going to do if we don't meet the deadline? Shoot us?'
Nelson's expression suggested he thought this wasn't beyond the bounds of possibility.
'I just never expected to be doing my job at gunpoint. If the powers that be don't trust us, why should we trust them?'
'Desperate times, Dick.'
McShay looked at Nelson suspiciously. 'I hope you're on our side, William.'
'There aren't any sides, are there?'
A rotating red light suddenly began whirling in the room outside, intermittently bathing them in a hellish glow. A droning alarm pitched at an irritating level filled the complex. The Special Forces troops were instantly on the move.
'Shit!' McShay closed his eyes in irritation; it was a breach of a security zone. 'What the fuck is it now?'
Nelson was already on the phone. As he listened, McShay watched incomprehension flicker across his face.
'Give me the damage,' McShay said wearily when Nelson replaced the phone.
Nelson stared at him blankly for a moment before he said, 'There's an intruder-'
'I know! It's the fucking intruder alarm!'
'— in the reactor core.'
McShay returned the blank stare and then replied, 'You're insane.' He picked up the phone and listened to the stuttering report before running out of the room, Nelson close behind him.
The inherent farcical nature of a group of over-armed troops pointing their guns at the door to an area where no human could possibly survive wasn't lost on McShay, but the techies remained convinced someone was inside. He pushed his way past the troops on the perimeter to the control array where Rex Moulding looked about as uncomfortable as any man could get.
Moulding motioned to the soldiers as McShay approached. 'What are this lot doing here? This isn't a military establishment.'
McShay brushed his question aside with an irritated flap of his hand. 'You're a month late for practical jokes, Rex.'
'It's no joke. Look here.' Moulding pointed to the bank of monitors.
McShay examined each screen in turn. They showed various views of the most secure and dangerous areas around the reactor. 'There's nothing there,' he said eventually.
'Keep watching.'
McShay sighed and attempted to maintain his vigilance. A second later a blur flashed across one of the screens. 'What's that?'
The fogginess flickered on one of the other screens. 'It's almost like the cameras can't get a lock on it,' Moulding noted.
'What do you mean?'
There was a long pause. 'I don't know what I mean.'
'Is it a glitch?'
'No, there's definitely someone in there. You can hear the noises it makes through the walls.'
