by Jim Graham
N’Bomal flinched.
‘You mean be swallowed up, like in a B movie?’ he asked.
Xin nodded.
‘Yes, sir. But for real. Makindra reckoned the odds were favourable for a total loss if the void returned, he just couldn’t calculate the exact odds. So we stopped work. For now, though, it appears to be dormant.’
‘Fine. So do we have anything we can work on?’ Bradbury asked.
‘Yes, sir, we do. The emissions.’
‘Please explain.’
N’Bomal listened as Xin took Bradbury through the original sequence of events. He pointed out that the second SG had been tracking the capture of the craft from Prebos, while the frigate had tracked the thing from up close. Makindra had since compared the two sets of data and evaluated the nature of them. It was now clear that the emissions and the void were connected.
By evaluating the emissions received by both SGs at the differing distances, it was evident that they were slightly different. Makindra had spent most of the last couple of days trying to work out what that meant and had yet to conclude anything, but even he was beginning to think that the emissions weren’t signals. They were a symptom of something else—leakage, perhaps, from something that was going wrong inside the craft.
‘Leakage—what—from something else?’ Bradbury tone was terse, impatient.
‘Yes, Todd,’ Xin confirmed. ‘In this case, the craft was trying to do something, and the emissions we recorded were the by-product of it. Rather like a magnetic field around an electric engine.’
‘So it created a void, rather than what it intended to create. A wormhole, maybe?’
‘Yes, although he hasn’t come to that single conclusion. Not yet. He’s still working through a long list of probables. Nor do we truly know why it stopped.’
Bradbury swung around and stuck his head through the screen. He looked around reception. He let the flap fall back. The Main Ward returned to darkness.
‘So where is he?’ he asked.
‘He’s confined to the research ward and his quarters, Todd. He was too eager to play with the damn thing—to make a name for himself before you arrived.’
N’Bomal frowned and raised an eyebrow. He could only just see Bradbury nodding in the gloom, no doubt pleased that Makindra hadn’t gotten terribly far without him.
‘Most sensible, Xin,’ Bradbury was saying. ‘We’re here to tow this thing out to a buoy on the far side. It mightn’t have affected the frigate, but we still have a duty to our shareholders not to put their assets at risk. Once there, we’ll play with it some more.’
Xin looked at Williams, hiding a grin.
‘Makindra won’t like zero-G buoy work, Todd,’ he warned, half-jokingly. ‘He’s not even himself working in 1/6th.’
Bradbury was decidedly unsympathetic.
‘I don’t care. Make him wear a patch and sit him in a corner. All I need him for is his brain.’
39
The wind had gained in strength all morning, and now the temperature was plummeting. Reginald issued instructions to hand out the survival suits from the estate’s half-track plains cruiser, which continued to follow them over the killing ground.
Estate workers had released 30 arctic hares a few hours before, all of them chipped. The hunting party was going to take around 10 of them, and researchers would observe the rest from the comfort of the IrwinSpelling greenhouse research facility in the weeks that followed. It was the traditional trade off between conservation and annihilation. The species would survive, if it could justify why it should exist alongside man—either as pets or as food, or by making a distinctive contribution to the ecosystem.
In honour of that age-old tradition, the hunters weren’t using electronic trackers—they were using dogs. The weather, though, was proving difficult.
Normal outer clothing, such as Thomas’s quilted jacket, could protect a body down to -60ºC for several hours, but it was now around -70ºC. It was clear from horizon to horizon so there was no cloud cover to keep the heat trapped close to the ground. Reginald was being cautious, glancing up every so often.
‘Damned cold, Thomas,’ Scat said. ‘My eyes are starting to freeze!’
‘Wear your goggles, Scat,’ Reginald cut in, unsympathetically. ‘That’s why they’re issued. If it gets much colder, we’ll climb into the survival suits.’
Scat had his suit tied to a pack on his back, as did everyone else. They were also carrying outdated low-velocity rifles, the least ancient of which had a realistic range of 300 metres, at best. His was fitted with a scope, but he doubted he would need it. It was a walking shoot. They could not laser the ranges or bed-in their elbows. A hare would either pop up close by, or be moving too fast and erratically at a distance to allow for a carefully aimed shot.
Suddenly there was a rifle shot from the right of the line.
‘Got it, father. Can you send in a dog?’ It was Thomas’s younger brother, Paul, a tall, fair-haired 19 years old.
‘Yes, but stay in line and no pushing forward,’ Reggie agreed. He sounded disappointed.
A handler released a single, shaggy hound. It bounded across the tundra in the direction of the dead or injured hare, some 250 metres out.
‘Very good shooting Paul,’ Scat said across the front of Thomas and Nettles who were standing closer.
‘Thank you, Scat.’ He appeared genuinely pleased that Scat was impressed.
It certainly had been an excellent shot. The hare had been moving. But it could have also been a lucky shot. He would like to see how well Paul shot later in the day, when the boy was tired.
Thomas gradually eased across the line to stand next to Scat.
‘Father is rather pissed with Paul, I’m afraid.’
‘Why? It was a terrific first shot.’
Thomas shook his head.
‘Not the shot, the neurals. You see, Paul had them fitted when he was at boarding school. He didn’t get permission. He just went out and did it.’
Scat looked across at Paul who was waiting for the dog to return.
‘What kind of neurals?’ he asked.
‘Kids’ stuff, really. Adrenal controls; that sort of thing. A steady hand, quicker reflexes: “show-off” neurals. He couldn’t afford much more. Father doesn’t approve. He’s suing the school for the lack of supervision.’
‘So it wasn’t a lucky shot, then?’
‘No. He’ll hit everything he takes aim at, pretty much. The poor hares don’t stand a chance. He shouldn’t be here.’
‘Then why is he?’
‘Paul wanted to meet you. Father agreed. If you don’t object, father will ask you to spend a few minutes with him at lunchtime to let him know what it was like going through training. Paul knows you’re a Resource War vet. He read about your actions at Suez. You’re one of his heroes.’
Scat flushed with embarrassment despite the cold.
‘If Reggie is agreeable, then OK. I don’t mind.’
‘To be honest Scat, I only got to know of your past myself when he pointed it out. He overheard me when I was discussing you, and Pierce, with father, the day we got back. Scatkiewicz isn’t exactly a common name.’
‘Not sure what to say, Thomas. As you say, it’s history. I’m a civilian now.’
Something caused Thomas to look away, then upwards. The sky was still and crystal-clear, but Scat could feel the air was now even icier than it had been just 10 minutes before.
‘I think we’re in for a snap freeze,’ Thomas said. ‘We may need to run for cover. I’ll go talk to Father. Be prepared to make a dash for it.’
He was gone before Scat could ask what he had meant by a snap freeze. It was intensely cold already.
Almost immediately, an alarm went off on his graf warning him that the rate of temperature drop was becoming a survival issue. Alarms were going off all along the line. Scat could see people unslinging their backpacks, reaching for their survival suits. He quickly followed their lead.
Thomas ran back up the
line, pulling his survival suit from his backpack without stopping to unsling it.
‘Get your suit on in a hurry, Scat. Then make your way to the plains cruiser. We need to get underground, and sharpish!’
‘What’s going on, Thomas? It was cold a minute ago, and still is. Why the sudden alarms?’
‘It’s a snap freeze, Scat. Just get your suit on and now. I’ll explain in a minute.’
Within a minute, Thomas was fully suited and, as he cranked up the suit’s thermal output, he spoke over the mike.
‘Snaps and super-snaps are uncommon, but not unheard of. We’ve had two, maybe three super-snaps in the last couple of years. When conditions are ripe for one, the temperature drops by about 50ºC in a few minutes. The alarms are a warning. Being outside when one develops is almost always fatal.’
‘OK,’ Scat replied from inside his suit, the hood sealed. ‘Is everyone suited? What about the dogs?’
‘We’ll put them in the cage in the cruiser. They’ll be OK. Let’s be getting out of here.’
The line broke up, and the 30-strong party made their way back to their vehicles. Thomas ordered the waiters to abandon the lunch table and get aboard any vehicle in which there was room for an extra body. A couple of soft-tracks were already carving ruts in the snow as they pulled hard half circles and made a run for the IrwinSpelling greenhouse about 10 kilometres away.
Reggie joined Thomas and Scat. Paul followed in his wake, as did a waiter from the Irwin estate.
‘I don’t think we’ll make it back to the main buildings,’ Reggie began. ‘We may have to make do with the old Peterson bunker; it’s only three kilometres from here and it’s fitted for snaps. There will be plenty of fuel cells inside.’
‘OK, Father. Let’s get going.’
Reggie shouted along the line of vehicles that had not yet left.
‘Terrence! Over here! And get a move-on.’ This to Nettles, the Trevon House Representative who was pushing waiters into a recreational vehicle, his hood not yet fully zipped and sealed. ‘And for heaven’s sake, zip that hood up!’
‘And you, Father,’ Thomas said.
‘What? Oh, yes.’ Reggie zipped himself up as Nettles manhandled the last of the waiters into a recreational vehicle, pushed hard against the door, and signalled the driver to follow Reggie’s vehicle once it had gotten going. He then ran over to them and knocked on the window.
‘Unexpected, Reggie?’ Nettles asked over the suit’s mike. As he spoke, his faceplate misted over.
‘Yes,’ Reggie replied. ‘I honestly thought we were done with them for the year. Anyway, we’ll let the meteorologists explain it; we need to survive it.’ He waved him to a back seat. ‘Get on board. We’re off to the Peterson’s.’
Nettles pulled the door shut and flopped next to Scat in the third row. The heaters were pushing out hot air, but no one could yet feel it. Their survival suit fuel cells were more beneficial, but they would not last more than 50—60 minutes or so at this burn rate. In drastically lower temperatures, even these would freeze.
Thomas taped his father on the shoulder.
‘Father, I’ve just been in touch with the remainder of the party. Most will join us there, but some have decided to make a run for the main buildings.’ He sounded a little concerned
‘Who?’
‘The Spencers and their guests. 10 people all told.’
‘Let me speak to them.’
Reggie reached across and grabbed the mike from Thomas’ hand.
‘Douglas, this is Reggie. Listen, old boy. Word is this will be quite a violent snap, maybe a super-snap. You should stop off at the Peterson’s. You may not be comfortable there, but you will survive it.’
The radio crackled.
‘Thanks, Reggie, but we were due in Go Down this afternoon. The boys have a product launch, and there’s a lot of money riding on it so they want to get to the main buildings. We can at least arrange a video presence from there, can’t we? You did lay land lines, didn’t you?’
‘What? Oh, of course I did. Do your guests know what frozen meat looks like, Douglas?’
‘I’m sure they do, Reggie, but we’ve covered a couple of klicks already so we should be there in less than half an hour. We’ll be OK. See you at the Association meeting on Wednesday?’
‘Yes, I’ll be there. Good luck.’
The Irwin’s plains cruiser began to bounce over tufts of grass and solid rivulets that had carved their way down the slope towards the river. It was climbing quite quickly, heading for the service road that would lead to the Peterson’s bunker.
‘The fool!’ Reggie muttered, disappointed that he had not convinced his old friend to play it safe. ‘It’s always money before sense with that man.’
40
Thomas sealed the entrance as the rest of the family and its staff prepared the bunker for the snap. The guests made themselves at home around an electric heater a servant had dragged into the middle of the high-ceilinged reception room. The dogs padded around in search of a place to lie down, sniffing the floor.
The bunker was much smaller and less flashy than the Irwin family home, but then it was a second-decade residence, long since abandoned. By what Scat could see of the place, the Peterson women, if there had been any, must have had little to say in its design. Most of the bunker’s inner walls were made of concrete, only a few of them covered in coarse plaster, now cracked and crumbling. The bathtub and sinks were made of concrete too, but coated in some polymer to leave a smooth and cleanable surface, now dulled by a decade of dust.
The main rooms were set back from the cliff face, and the external windows were small. Originally, fibre-optics beamed light into the rooms, but as the place lay abandoned for so long, the fibre optic inlets were now snow and dirt covered, as were the lower halves of the windows. It was gloomy inside.
Scat lost his graf signal a few minutes after arrival. He checked around and found that he was not the only one. He mentioned it to Thomas.
‘We’ll set up the bunkers’ comms in a minute,’ Thomas responded, ‘We need to lock the place down and ramp up the heat, first.’
‘Anything I can do?’ Scat asked.
‘No, we’ve got it in hand. Take a seat. When Paul’s finished, I’ll send him over. You can then get your chat out of the way!’ He added a wink, as though he knew the hero worship would embarrass him.
‘You want me to pass on a message?’
‘No. Well maybe.’ Thomas said. ‘It depends. We certainly don’t want him to be dabbling with any more enhancements. But whatever fits, really.’
‘No worries, Thomas. The Service frowns on enhancements. They’re unpredictable. I’ll make sure he gets the message.’
I don’t like them either Scat thought to add.
Although it was possible to test a subject’s psychological suitability for an enhancement in a routine environment, it was another matter entirely to predict how helpful or dangerous they would be in the hands of a soldier scarred by combat. Moreover, as they were irreversible procedures, the military preferred not to use them. Scat had his own evidence: his mother’s death, linked to bootlegged neurals overloading an unstable mind.
Thomas waved over his shoulder and disappeared into the garage. Scat grabbed a flip-down seat from the back wall and walked over to the electric fire.
Nettles joined him but did not speak right away. He just settled, nodded at the guest to his right, and let himself adjust to the room. It was currently much less bright than outside, but power was pushing its way through the bunker’s wiring and the lights were flickering, slowly building luminescence.
Scat acknowledged Nettles’ company with a nod and a smile. Up to this point, they had not spoken.
‘Never a dull moment on the Irwin estate,’ Nettles observed as the overhead air conditioners started up.
‘Or elsewhere on the Gap Plain, I expect, Terrance. How long do these snaps last?’
‘Not long; a few hours to a day or so. They vary. They s
ay the faster they arrive the less time they tend to stay, though that’s probably an old wife’s tale. I doubt we have enough evidence either way. They’re a nuisance to the Outlanders, mostly. They don’t bring the whole place to a full stop any more. Go Down mightn’t even notice this one, unless they close the dam wall. That generally pisses people off.’
‘Are you Trevon born, or from off-world?’ Scat enquired.
‘Trevon born, Earth educated. Broken in by the Lynthax Corporation after uni, as are most people here, and then I found my head! I now own a software company in Go Down and represent the Second District, Eastern Wall in the House.’
‘Not the Outlanders, then?’
‘No. Not the Outlanders, Scat. They do a fairly decent job of that for themselves. Spelling has a nephew in the House. Reggie doesn’t at this minute, which is why he’s paying attention to my position on independence and the Corporate Constituencies. Paul is too young, and Thomas is an unknown outside his father’s network. Stephen is more promising, but he’s lecturing at NYU.’
‘What about the girls: Claire and Janice?’
‘Too precious. But please don’t repeat that,’ he replied. ‘I think Jenny is pushing Claire my way. I’d hate to upset her,’ he added with a wink.
Scat had yet to meet either of the girls. He had only seen them across the dinner table. Thomas had named them, but not bothered with an introduction. After dinner, the girls had disappeared into Go Down with their guests and were missing from breakfast that morning.
After a short while, the guests settled into quiet conversation, and the Irwins began to return from their chores. Reggie announced that the bunker’s comms were up and running, so, if anyone needed to get word back to Go Down, they could do so.
Thomas joined Nettles and Scat just as the small windows began to crack.
‘Shit!’ he exclaimed.
Heads turned towards the outer wall as recently introduced moisture began to freeze in a downward line from the ceiling, creating powered ice that hung in the air and dusted the walls.
‘Move into the service areas, quickly!’ Reggie ordered, ‘And get your hoods back on. Now!’
‘With me, Scat, Terrance,’ Thomas shouted as he pushed through a door leading off to a corridor along the inner wall. ‘The kitchens. They’ll have fuel cells.’