by Pete Bevan
Then it cast the pen to the ground, raised its head and lifted the paper to its chest. Jim stared in amazement as the creature raised its black, obsidian eyes to stare at him smiled a wide, twisted, scarecrow smile. Jim found himself, despite everything, smiling back at the monster before him.
Paul rustled the paper in front of his chest to get Jim’s attention. Jim stared at the crumpled form that it held to its chest and struggled to make out the words. In the city and all around Jim’s office, the Zombies stood stock still and smiled a big, twisted scarecrow smile.
Finally, Jim realised what the note said:
hElLO Jim
Quantum Practice
The scientist stared at the bundle of coloured wires that ran from the nearby cabinet up to his lap. His hands shook as he tried to solder what he thought was the positive detection wire to the multi pin connector. The smell of burning solder stung his nostrils and to his malnourished brain it smelt like burnt toast. The only light in the ruined laboratory emitted from the screen on his workstation. He couldn’t get the wire in position and solder it simultaneously so he put the soldering iron back in its cradle and took the bottle of water from the table. Its chemical taste was a remnant from its life in the cooling system of one of the now defunct supercomputers. Even the long process of filtering out the chemicals couldn’t improve the taste.
He used his thumb and fingers to rub his forehead. The headache was now a permanent fixture since the food had run out a few days ago. He looked down at his emaciated hand, now more like the Dead outside than his remembered self image.
“Joe? Are you online?” he quietly asked the AI.
“Yes sir,” the cool mechanical voice replied.
“Run through the video again. Please recheck the timings. Ensure that the Atomic clock in the view is synced with the Quantum wave initiator. Then compare it with the clock time on the video. Finally, ensure any errors are compensated for with the synchronisation algorithm I completed yesterday.”
“That operation will take four hours thirteen minutes.”
“Good. Will that impact on the main program compilation?”
“No sir. I still have twenty functioning cores that can be used for that operation alone.”
“Good. Thank you, Joe.”
“I thought you may want to know that the main program compilation will be completed in five hours, twenty-five minutes and eighteen seconds.”
“Ok,” the scientist muttered quietly. He picked up the wires and the connector and began to solder them in position. He reckoned that within eight hours he could be ready to go. It needed to be today otherwise he may not have the strength. Then, of course, there was the problem of the Dead.
“Joe. How many are there now?”
“Please specify.”
“How many Dead are trying to get into the LHC?”
“Approximately six point four billion.”
“All the Dead are here,” said the scientist quietly to himself. Joe interpreted this as a statement and remained silent.
On the screen the image played silently on loop. In the grainy CCTV footage the large LAX sign was clearly visible, as was the main clock on the concourse. The scientist had no way of knowing if it was an atomic clock, but had assumed it was. The image showed people running in panic and a line of FBI agents in black jackets pointing guns at the scruffily dressed man holding the vial. The man was ranting silently at them, his face red with rage. The scientist had watched the footage so many times the sound played through his mind even though it was turned down. The man’s motivation for releasing the plague was some vague and meandering hatred of society and humanity’s ability to destroy itself. The irony of this action was lost on everyone as he dropped the vial. The footage slowed to a crawl as Joe checked each frame remotely. Over a period of a few seconds the vial tumbled down. Simultaneously there was a flash from the FBI agents’ guns and slow bullets traced their way to the terrorist. Finally, they impacted into the man’s head and chest in several locations as the vial shattered on the floor. The terrorist tumbled as crimson blood sprayed in slow drops from the impact sites, each bullet taking seconds to trace through his body before exploding from his rear. Languidly, he fell to his knees and the FBI agents started their sprint towards him. In slow motion the screams of the onlookers became a low howl, not dissimilar to the noise he heard on his infrequent visits to the blast door that prevented the Dead from stopping his long months of work.
The video sped up to its normal rate. The FBI agents crowded around the body as the onlookers started to gawp in horror. As the final few seconds of footage rolled the terrorist jerked, as if having a seizure, and then lashed out at the nearest agent. They fired as if in a frenzy, sending further sprays of blood out of the corpse as it gripped the shin of the nearest agent and bit deeply into it before any of the shots found its head. The footage ran for a further three hours but what it showed was not worth seeing again and the footage looped back to the beginning as Joe continued the analysis.
Connector finished, he placed the snaking cables on the floor and slumped in his chair.
“Joe. I’m worried about hitting the spot. How confident are you of the final placement location?”
“There is a ninety-eight percent chance of hitting the right location, given local gravity variations in the rotation of the Earth. There is only a sixty percent chance of getting the exact time index,” said Joe. The scientist had become convinced that the AI had become more morose over time, almost as if it didn’t want to be left alone. He put this down to nothing more than his own fevered imaginings.
“Do you believe that there is anything further we can do to improve the accuracy of either parameter?”
“Given the lack of testing, I do not have enough data at this time to make a prediction.”
“So we need some luck then?” the Scientist smiled thinly. Joe didn’t have any parameters that coincided with the concept of luck and so remained silent.
The idea was to use the LHC to create a small wormhole. The quantum energy from that wormhole would then shunt the small pod mounted on the staging platform out of linear time into a non-linear state. The pod would then surf the quantum wave to the event horizon, where - and the theory was ropey here at best - it would flip back to the event at LAX and deposit the scientist in the scene, where he could influence the events that had led to the release of the plague. In his heart the scientist knew his chances of achieving the goal were slim, but given the situation it was either that or starve to death. Provided the billions of bodies crushing themselves to liquid at the blast doors didn’t finally get through.
Several hours later the Scientist sat in the pod, crudely made from interchangeable aluminium struts. The walk from his lab to the staging platform just off one of the detector corridors had robbed him of the last of his strength. He hoped the adrenaline from the jump would allow him to wrestle the terrorist to the ground or do whatever was required to stop the event. He shook his head. There were too many variables, too many intangibles. He controlled his breathing and shut his eyes.
“Joe. Initiate the countdown,” he said shakily.
“Sir?” said Joe.
“Yes?” said the Scientist, slightly confused.
“Good luck.” The scientist paused. He realised he would miss his companion.
“And you,” was all the Scientist could think to say.
“Jump in ten... nine… eight… seven… Wormhole power at one hundred per cent… five… four… Quantum wave initiation complete in… two… one… fireeeeeeeeee.”
For a moment the Scientist’s perception of time stood still and he thought that the wave had failed. Then, with a scream, his vision turned to grey and the pod disappeared around him. His entire nervous system turned to liquid fire and yet, for some reason, all he could think about was a large mahogany hat stand. Finally, the thought left him to be replaced with screaming pain and he realised it wasn’t him screaming. It was something else. The scream was inhuman and
quickly he realised it was playing in reverse, like the video being rewound. It lowered to a bass rumble as the LAX coalesced around him. Finally there was a pop as he re-entered the time stream and he heard the screams, exactly as they had been on the video, but in glorious stereo. He was knelt behind the Terrorist and the cool, fresh air chilled him. His left hand was flat against the cool tiled floor and as his vision cleared he saw the FBI agents stare in wonder at him.
It was then he saw the terrorist, barely a few feet in front of him drop the vial. Once again it seemed in slow motion but it was adrenaline that made time slow. The bright sunlight glinted off its glass surface as he dived forward, right hand outstretched to catch it. He stretched his whole body forward to its full extent, but it wasn’t enough and his fingers flicked it forward as he landed face first on the floor. The vial span and skidded across tiled floor before being crunched under the foot of one of the FBI agents who still stared at the Scientist in surprise.
The scientist stared at the bundle of coloured wires that ran from the nearby cabinet up onto his lap. His hands shook as he tried to solder what he thought was the positive detection wire to the multi pin connector. The smell of burning solder stung his nostrils and to his malnourished brain it smelt like burnt toast. The only light in the ruined laboratory emitted from the screen on his workstation. He couldn’t get the wire in position and solder it simultaneously, so he put the soldering iron back in its cradle and took the bottle of water from the table. Its chemical taste was a remnant from its life in the cooling system of one of the now defunct supercomputers. Even the long process of filtering out the chemicals couldn’t improve the taste.
He used his thumb and fingers to rub his forehead. The headache was now a permanent fixture since the food had run out a few days ago. He looked down at his emaciated hand, now more like the Dead outside than his remembered self image.
“Joe. Are you online?” he quietly asked the AI.
“Yes sir,” the cool mechanical voice replied.
“Run through the video again. Please recheck the timings. Ensure that the Atomic clock in the view is synched with the Quantum wave initiator. Then compare it with the clock time on the video. Ensure any errors are compensated for with the synchronisation algorithm I completed yesterday. Finally, do you think that my appearance behind the terrorist will affect any of the quantum waves taking me to that location?”
“That is extremely difficult to predict.”
“Hmm,” said the scientist. His first viewing of the video had spurred him on. The fact that he had appeared behind the Terrorist had showed him that the time machine worked and could take him to the correct location. It looked like pure dumb luck that he had missed the vial, consequently he had considered appearing a few minutes earlier and warning the FBI agents of what was going to happen but he had a hunch that they wouldn’t believe him until he appeared behind the Terrorist, at which point it would be too late.
“The synchronisation operation will take four hours thirteen minutes.”
“Good. Will that impact on the main program compilation?”
“No sir, I still have twenty functioning cores that can be used for that operation alone.”
“Good. Thank you, Joe.”
“I thought you may want to know that the main program compilation will be completed in five hours, twenty-five minutes and eighteen seconds.”
“Ok,” the scientist muttered quietly. He picked up the wires and the connector and began to solder them in position. He reckoned that within eight hours he could be ready to go. It needed to be today otherwise he may not have the strength. Then of course there was the problem of the Dead.
“Joe. How many are there now?”
“Please specify.”
“How many Dead are trying to get into the LHC?”
“Approximately six point four billion.”
“All the Dead are here,” said the scientist quietly to himself. Joe interpreted this as a statement and remained silent.
On the screen the image played silently on loop. In the grainy CCTV footage the large LAX sign was clearly visible, as was the main clock on the concourse. The scientist had no way of knowing if it was an atomic clock, but had assumed it was. The image showed people running in panic and a line of FBI agents in black jackets pointing guns at the scruffily dressed man holding the vial. The man was ranting silently at them, his face red with rage. The scientist had watched the footage so many times the sound played through his mind even though it was turned down. The man’s motivation for releasing the plague was some vague and meandering hatred of society and humanity’s ability to destroy itself. The irony of this action was lost on everyone as he dropped the vial and the Scientist appeared with a pop behind him. The footage slowed to a crawl as Joe checked each frame remotely. Over a period of a few seconds the vial tumbled down before the prone Scientist flicked it forward with his stumbling hands. Simultaneously, there was a flash from the FBI agents’ guns and slow bullets traced their way to the terrorist. Finally, they impacted into the man’s head and chest in several locations as the vial skittered under the foot of the leftmost FBI agent. The agent looked down as he crushed it. The terrorist tumbled as crimson blood sprayed in slow drops from the impact sites, each bullet taking seconds to trace through his body before exploding from his rear. Languidly, he fell to his knees and the FBI agents started their sprint towards him. In slow motion the screams of the onlookers became a low howl, not dissimilar to the noise he heard on his infrequent visits to the blast door that prevented the Dead from stopping his long months of work.
The video sped up to its normal rate. The FBI agents crowded around the body as the onlookers started to gawp in horror. As the final few seconds of footage rolled the terrorist jerked, as if having a seizure and then lashed out at the Scientist. The FBI agents fired as if in a frenzy, sending further sprays of blood out of the corpse as it gripped the arm of the Scientist and bit deeply into it before one of the shots found its head. The footage ran for a further three hours but what it showed was not worth seeing again and the footage looped back to the beginning as Joe continued the analysis. The scientist didn’t want to see himself as a Zombie again. The first viewing had shocked him enough.
Connector finished, he placed the snaking cables on the floor and slumped in his chair.
“Joe, I’m worried about hitting the spot. I know we’ve done it once but how confident are you of the final placement location?”
“There is a ninety-eight percent chance of hitting the right location, given local gravity variations in the rotation of the Earth. There is only a seventy percent chance of getting the exact time index,” said Joe. The scientist had become convinced that the AI had become more morose over time, almost as if it didn’t want to be left alone. He put this down to nothing more than his own fevered imaginings.
“Do you believe that there is anything further we can do to improve the accuracy of either parameter?”
“Given the fact we cannot yet analyse the previous successful relocation I do not have enough data at this time to make a prediction.”
“So we need some luck then?” the Scientist smiled thinly. Joe didn’t have any parameters that coincided with the concept of luck and so remained silent.
Several hours later the Scientist sat in the pod, crudely made from interchangeable aluminium struts. The walk from his lab to the staging platform just off one of the detector corridors had robbed him of the last of his strength. He hoped the adrenaline from the jump would allow him to knock the leftmost agent to the ground or do whatever was required to stop the event. He shook his head. There were too many variables, too many intangibles. He controlled his breathing and shut his eyes.
“Joe. Initiate the countdown,” he said shakily.
“Sir?” said Joe.
“Yes?” said the Scientist, slightly confused.
“Good luck.”
The scientist paused. He realised he would miss his companion. “And you,” was all the Sci
entist could think to say.