“What sort of speeds are we talking?”
“Oh, she can shift,” Peterson said. “She’ll push eighty or ninety knots sweet enough.”
Having wheeled over a moveable staircase, he heaved open the access hatch on the roof and allowed Callum a look at the interior.
“It’s designed for two, operable by one, but you could fit four, maybe even five people inside of her without much trouble. The instrumentation can be isolated so that nothing gets activated by accident.” He hoisted himself up onto the rim, dropped down into the cabin and seated himself in front of the control panel. “Otherwise it’s pretty much like driving any other vehicle. Here’s your steering, brakes, acceleration, which can be switched to foot-pedal operation.” He took Callum through the operating procedures as if he were teaching him to drive the thing. Then he indicated the mass of switches, levers and dials to the right of the steering wheel. “It looks a bit busy on here, but really most of these controls relate to the operation of the mechanical arms. Why don’t you hop down front and I’ll show you?”
Apprehensive, Callum descended the staircase and walked to the front of the craft. Next thing, there was a loud whirring and various lights flashed as Peterson powered up the sub. The craft rested on its rails, elevated about half a metre off the floor. Her nose sat just above Callum’s head. He watched as inlets opened up on either side and two large mechanical arms tipped with tripartite metal pincers inched towards him.
The pincers began to open and clench rhythmically, and Callum took a step backwards, out of range. Peterson’s voice boomed out over a PA. “Step back where you were, would you? I wanna show you what this baby can do.”
Callum hesitated. The Sea Centaur was impressive and everything, but he didn’t fancy losing an eye to it. Against his better judgement, he stepped back forward.
“Good man. Now keep perfectly still. I’m gonna do you a favour.”
Callum watched as one of the arms extended nearer and nearer to the top of his head, until it was only a fraction above his hairline. At this point the pincer opened with a barely audible squeak and reclosed.
The form of the demonstration suddenly became clear, and Callum braced himself for the inevitable hair-plucking that was to follow. Instead, the other arm now moved forward, arched around the side of his head and came back in to meet with its counterpart. The second pincer clunked open and closed with a pneumatic whistle. It then moved upwards, before the first pincer opened and retracted painlessly. The second lowered down in front of Callum’s face.
He examined the prongs. Unable to see anything, he shrugged.
“Look closer,” erupted from the PA.
Callum looked closer. This time he saw that caught within the pincer was roughly a third of a single grey head hair.
Peterson’s laugh filled the room. “Getting old, buddy!”
Callum couldn’t help but smile. “Where’s the rest of it?”
“The rest of it’s your problem,” Peterson replied. “I only just met you.”
3
“What’s the password?”
Silence.
“Come on, the password.”
“You don’t need the stupid password.”
“Of course I need it. How do I know it’s you I’m talking to and not a clone?”
“You can see it’s me on the webcam.”
“Could be a clone.”
“It’s not a clone, it’s me!”
Silence.
“Jamie?”
Jamie made a show of staring past his computer screen, as if reading something on the wall behind. He said nothing. His face was sullen and drawn, and his chin was perched resolutely on top of his knuckles, forcing his lips into a pout. Beyond his hunched shoulders, Callum could make out the little wooden bookcase that stood in the corner of his bedroom; in a rare moment of unity, he and Moira had assembled it together, shortly before the split. The boy’s football trophies were lined up across the top, along with a die-cast Lamborghini sports car minus a door, some kind of hideous feng shui bowl thing that his mother had no doubt forced on him, and a mini desk globe that Callum had bought him as a stocking-filler last Christmas. The picture on the high-spec monitor in front of him was so clear that he could read the spines of the comic books crammed into the upper shelves.
“Your mother let you have your Batman comics back then?”
Jamie sighed but made no reply.
“Jamie?”
“Not all of them,” he mumbled.
Softer. “Jamie?”
“I said not all of them.”
Callum took a deep breath. Just be patient. He glanced around the communications centre, a cosy, lounge-like little room, with computer bays and wall-mounted phone terminals divided by felt screens. He turned the volume up on his monitor. It wasn’t the first time that he and Jamie had spoken via video link-up. Over the last couple of years it had become a key part of their relationship. Like clockwork, every other Friday at six Callum would connect his webcam and dial through. Jamie would answer pretty much straight away, they would exchange passwords to make sure that neither of them was a clone, and then they would talk for as long as they could. It was no substitute for being together in the flesh. But, as Jamie had once put it, at least we can pull faces at each other and the other one can see.
“I’ll have a word with her,” Callum said. “About your comics.”
Jamie dropped his gaze, still determined not to look at the screen, and tapped at his keyboard.
Callum took another deep breath. “Jamie, I’m sorry.”
No response.
“I’m sorry that I had to take you home early, I really am. I’m sorry I’m not there with you now.” He watched as the boy’s gaze moved from the wall briefly and flashed across the screen. “I won’t be gone forever, you know. I’ll be back before you know it, and then we can go somewhere else, somewhere special, just you and me.”
The boy shifted in his little desk chair, and his eyes flickered back towards the screen.
“I love you, Jamie, and I never meant to make you sad. It’s just really important that I help Jonas out right now, you know?”
The boy finally looked directly at him. His usually bright hazel eyes were dull with hurt. His brow was crumpled into a frown.
“Can you forgive me?”
“Where are you, Dad?” There was a quiver to the boy’s voice that Callum never wanted to hear again.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the communications assistant shift uneasily. Of all the new things he had experienced over the last few days, this was the weirdest. It was straight out of Kafka: an armed, po-faced guard assisting him with his conversations with his son. Jamie would have loved to hear all about it, to be a part of it, but of course he couldn’t.
Callum traced his eye across the man’s narrow features. Were it not for his immaculately ironed combat smock, and the pistol holstered at his hip, he would have seemed an unlikely soldier. He was tall and slender, his face was gentle and his eyes gleamed with a rare intelligence. He stood in the corner with his back to the wall. His tattooed knuckles were clamped around the waist-height railing that ran to either side of the main entrance, and his head was tilted inquisitively. On entering, he had helpfully suggested a list of subjects that Callum might not wish to discuss. Unsurprisingly, these comprised anything at all to do with the project, including its location.
“I’m in Russia,” Callum answered at last.
“Where’s Russia?”
He thought about it. Then, with half an eye on the comms assistant, he said, “Why don’t you grab the little globe?”
With a sigh, Jamie edged around on his desk chair, scuffed across to the bookcase, grabbed the globe and slumped back down in his seat.
“Can you find Scotland?”
“Duh!”
As the comms assis
tant stretched his legs, coincidentally as far as Callum’s computer booth, the boy turned the globe around its axis with a slow, precise twist, scanning across the surface as he went. He stopped and jabbed his finger down somewhere between Aberdeen and Inverness.
“Okay,” Callum said, “now keep turning…”
With the little globe placed directly in front of the webcam, Jamie turned it slowly from the top until his finger was hovering somewhere east of St Petersburg.
“…aaaand stop. That’s Russia.”
Jamie picked the globe back up, held it up to his face and studied it. “It’s massive.”
“Biggest country in the world.”
He plonked the globe back down. “How long for?”
“I’ll be back before you start school again in October.”
Jamie flopped back in his chair. “October’s ages away.”
“It’ll come around sooner than you think.”
“But it’s ages and I never see you anyway.”
Out of reflex, Callum threw another glance at the comms assistant, but he had retreated back into his corner. “That’s not true, Jamie. You’re seeing me now, aren’t you? Do you know how difficult it was for me to arrange this?”
“Pfff.”
“We see each other for real every other weekend, and when we don’t see each other we talk like this. You know you can phone me whenever you like—”
“Yeah, but it’s not the same. None of it’s the same.”
“I wish I could change it, son. But it’s the best I can do right now.”
Jamie went to reply, then closed his mouth, humphed and stared back down at his keyboard.
Callum sighed. “Come on, what’s going to make you feel better? Do you want to shout at me? Do you want to call me names?”
The boy’s nose wrinkled and a faint smile flickered on his lips before he stifled it.
“Go on,” Callum continued, “free hit. You can call me anything you want and I promise I won’t tell your mother.”
“What? Anything?”
“Anything at all. You want to call me a great big jerk…” Jamie sniggered, “…that’s fine, I deserve it. You want to call me a butt-face…” the snigger turned to laughter, “…go on and call me a butt-face.”
Callum glanced over to see the comms assistant looking at him now with undisguised interest; he probably thought that it was all some kind of secret code.
He looked back to see that the grin had disappeared from Jamie’s face. His eyes were dull once more.
“Jamie?”
“Got to go.”
Callum’s heart sank. “What’s the matter? Have I said something?”
The boy shook his head. “Mum says it’s dinner.”
“But we’ve only just…” Callum stopped himself. Patience. “Okay, well, have a nice dinner.”
There was a short silence before Jamie said, “Can we talk tomorrow, Dad?”
“You bet,” Callum replied, trying to keep his voice steady. “We can talk every night if you like?”
Jamie shrugged. Then he reached a hand out to close the link.
“I love you, Jamie.”
The screen went blank.
Callum fell back in his chair and clasped his hands on top of his head. For several minutes he sat quietly, staring at the empty screen and replaying the conversation in his mind. He rolled his eyes. Have a nice dinner. Was that really the best he could do?
He watched as the screen went onto automatic standby, then he got to his feet and walked back over to the door. The comms assistant monitored his approach; the intensity of his gaze made Callum feel increasingly self-conscious. Had he said anything wrong? Revealed anything he shouldn’t have?
As he pulled the door open, a hand fell on top of his shoulder. He turned around. “Look, I didn’t say anything—”
The man gently squeezed his shoulder. “Give to him time,” he said, with a warm smile that took Callum completely by surprise. “Just give to him time.”
4
“Ladies and gentlemen. Good morning and welcome to Franz Josef Land.”
A hush descended as the tall, balding man rose to his feet and cast an imperious glance around the audience. His smile was awkward, incompatible with the focus in his eyes. It caused his brow to furrow and the ends of his neatly trimmed moustache to flare beyond the corners of his lips. His skin was pale and taut, stretched tight across his prominent cheeks, chin and brow ridges, giving his face a skeletal aspect. “I am Mr Volkov, G&S Chief Executive and director of operations here on Harmsworth Island.”
Callum was seated towards the middle of the induction group, between Doctors Lee and Lebedev. Doctor Semyonov and Dan Peterson were seated behind, and there were at least twenty or so other specialists and research students packed into the surrounding rows. Around the lavishly decorated, wood-panelled walls stood G&S officials, all wearing similar blue outfits, as well as a rank of soldiers and a handful of Siberian guides.
“For the benefit of our foreign guests,” Volkov continued, “I will be giving this talk in English. I presume most of you clever people have a basic grasp. If not then please come to see me afterwards and I will speak properly.” He gestured an arm around the room. “This is the Albanov outpost. A full tour of the ship is next on the itinerary and later today you must also put up with me telling you all how close to death you are.” He perched on the edge of his desk. “For those of you who are unaware, you are now part of the most ambitious infrastructure project ever undertaken. The proposed plant here on Harmsworth will be at the highest latitude of any plant anywhere in the world. The construction energy requirements will be so considerable that power will be supplied, at least initially, by one of a number of pioneering floating nuclear power stations currently under construction.
“Russia, of course, has the largest known natural gas reserves in the world, and we are also already the largest exporter of natural gas. You may be wondering why, then, we are undertaking this project, and the answer is that the geographical pattern of our gas production is set to change dramatically over the next few decades. There will be reduced output from the current primary production sites, for example at Urengoy and Yamburg, and increased exploitation of Arctic resources.”
“In other words, they’re running out,” whispered Peterson.
“Aren’t we all,” Doctor Lee replied.
Volkov continued, “The gas fields identified in the waters off Franz Josef Land have an enormous projected capacity. The volume of gas that we expect to extract and process will be enough to ensure a continuous, reliable gas supply for northern Russia for many years to come. It will also make a substantial contribution towards our European export commitments.”
“Nothing at all to do with making money then,” came Peterson’s next instalment. This time Doctor Lee said nothing, but turned her head and shot him a warning glance.
Volkov: “Drilling and wellhead installation will get underway within the next few months and are anticipated to be complete by June 2024. This will hopefully coincide with the completion of the environmental impact assessment and any other scientific studies, though I appreciate that the timescales involved will rely on the results of your on-going investigations. As a representative of the G&S Corporation, I would like to thank you all for your expert participation. Thank you.”
After a few more words of introduction from Volkov, the assembly was invited to reconvene up on the bridge for the start of the guided tour. The bridge itself was a narrow building, the many windows providing a complete arc of vision for the ship’s navigators. It was perched on top of the deckhouse, curving slightly across the beam. Behind the bridge, rising up out of sight, stood the main telecommunications mast, with receiver dishes and aerials running up along its length. The centre of the ship’s deck was taken up with a series of superstructures, several stories high and
forming an extension to the main deckhouse. From their centre rose the wide, rectangular funnel, beyond which the main mast rose to an even greater height, a beacon flashing on its pinnacle and a series of cables trailing from the cross arm. At the very rear of the ship Callum could just make out the raised helipad and the tail of a dormant helicopter.
Callum nudged Doctor Lee, who was standing next to him, and whispered, “Could you imagine trying to reverse park this thing?”
She said nothing. All the colour had drained from her face and her fingers were clamped around the underside of the console.
“Doctor Lee?”
“It’s okay,” she whispered back, forcing a brief, unconvincing smile. “Not great with heights, that’s all.”
After touching on the Albanov’s research history, Volkov conducted the tour down through the deckhouse, eventually drawing to a stop beside the ground-floor entrance. He rapped the back of his knuckles against one of the doors. “Beyond these doors, you may of course walk the decks and I would invite you to please do so. But all other buildings are restricted. As our guests, we are trusting you to move around unescorted as necessary. I am trusting you. Please respect this arrangement and be careful not to enter restricted areas unless you desire an encounter with security forces,” he pointed across at the plain, austere frontage of the security headquarters, “which, believe me, you do not.”
After lunch the group reconvened in the lecture room. It was roughly the size of one of the University of Aberdeen’s smaller auditoria, and Callum guessed there was capacity for around three hundred people at a squeeze. The assembly filed noisily into the first few rows, as Volkov took to the stage and his entourage of officials positioned themselves to either side.
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