The Age Atomic (6 page)

 

ELEVEN

 

It was cold, and getting colder.

The man on the bridge frowned, his breath steaming in a huge cloud before him as he peered ahead. Behind him, the wall of fog was as dense and impenetrable as ever, but ahead the view was clear.

But… he wasn't sure.

The night was quiet, like it wasn't just the bridge and the water beneath it that was frozen solid. It was like the air itself was too cold even to allow sound to pass.

A moment later the ice beneath the bridge cracked, the sound like a muffled gunshot echoing around and around. The man shuffled, the knob of his wooden leg scraping the roadway, as the bridge shook, the tremor strong enough to knock him over. The man grabbed the rail next to him and clung on, pressing his chest against it, ignoring the way the cold of the metal cut through his thick jacket. The tremor stopped, but the man held on a moment longer, just to be sure. He glanced over the edge. The ice had cracked, a great zigzag fissure opening directly below the bridge.

The tremors worried him. They were getting stronger and more frequent, far more so than when he had left the city.

He straightened up. And how long ago had that been? How many years had he been traveling, lost in the fog? Too many, and somehow far more than had apparently passed here.

If this was the same place, the
right
place.

He had to admit, he wasn't sure. The buildings on the other side of the bridge were dark and apparently empty. The sky was clear but completely black. The fog bank behind the man cast a dirty orange glow over the bridge.

The bridge was the problem. The city was alone, isolated, surrounded by a wall of fog. Beyond the fog was nothing but the lands of the Enemy.

Or so he had thought. He knew, now, that his knowledge of the universe was incomplete. There was plenty beyond the fog. The Pocket was larger than he had ever dreamed, stretching far beyond the reach of his instruments.

But the bridge, that was different. He hadn't known about it before. But as the cold had gotten worse the fog had receded, exposing the structure at the very northern tip of the island. It provided the perfect watch point, the airship anchored to it quite securely, hidden just behind the fog bank. It wouldn't pay to take any chances and leave themselves exposed, if the city was the
wrong
place.

And the bridge was the one thing that made him pause to consider whether this really was the right place.

He dared not go any further across it. Not yet. There were still tests to do and measurements to make. He stared ahead, trying to judge distance, to recognize any part of the cityscape before him.

There, perhaps, due south, where the air was a little misty, where the glow was captured, the lights of something big, the lights of civilizations, of something more substantial than the collection of empty shells that crowded the end of the island, on the other side of the bridge.

Perhaps it
was
the right place. Perhaps he
had
found home.

Perhaps.

The man on the bridge slapped his cheeks to get the feeling back into them, rubbed his thick mustache to get the ice out of it, and turned carefully on the frozen bridge. Looking down, he stepped forward slowly so as not to slide on the ice, and vanished into the fog.

 

The interior of the airship was silent until the man returned, his wooden leg tapping loudly on the floor as he made his way to the pilot's seat on the flight deck. He fell into it, and began pulling his gloves off. In front of him, the windows of the craft were opaque with frost.

“Have you come to a decision?”

The man paused and looked up at the ceiling, then shook his head as he dropped his gloves onto the control board.

“No. I can't be sure. We need something else.”

A shadow flickered in the room. “We could fly in and investigate.”

The man chuckled. “And look what happened last time,” he said, banging the end of his wooden leg against the floor. “No, we need to wait. We need to be sure.”

“We cannot wait here forever.”

That was true. The man sniffed and tugged at his beard. “If only there was a signal of some kind, something we could home in on.”

“You only found me because I activated the ship's beacon. It is unlikely we will find such a signal out there.”

The man
hrmmed
, and scanned the controls. It was worth a try.

“A distress beacon, no,” he said, flicking a series of switches. On the control board a row of orange lights came on. “But maybe there will be something else. See if you can boost the output of the number two power cell. Perhaps we'll be able to pick something up from the city – radio, perhaps, anything that might give us the information we need.”

The shadow moved again. “Very good, sir” said the voice, this time nearer the door.

The man sat back in the pilot's seat, and looked at the frosted windows.

Perhaps it was the right place. Perhaps it was home.

But he had to be sure.

 

TWELVE

 

“We can do great things together, you and me.”

Doctor X ignored the voice, and focused instead on the clipboard an inch from his face. He ticked some more boxes and scrawled a note in a hand he knew he would not be able to decipher an hour from now. His handwriting was poor at the best of times, but today
she
was coming to the laboratory to visit. And
she
expected much, even though she didn't perceive time the same way as everyone else. He glanced out of the corner of his eye and adjusted his round-framed glasses. She could appear from anywhere, which, if he were honest, scared the living crap out of him. And at such a delicate phase of the operation, he needed his wits about him.

“I know you're listening, pal.”

The doctor held his breath and flicked a switch on the panel in front of him. The voice wasn't doing much for his nerves either. It filled the space, echoing against the hard surfaces of the laboratory. It was a male voice, eerily calm and muffled slightly, like someone on the end of a long-distance telephone call.

Not that Doctor X knew much about that kind of thing. He'd only been introduced to the concept of “long-distance” in the last year. Imprisoned in the laboratory as he was, he still didn't quite understand what it meant that there was more than just the city outside.

The doctor ticked another box.

“You know I'm speaking the truth,” said the voice.

The doctor shook his head, and put the clipboard down.

“I think we're almost ready, Dr Richardson.” No response. Doctor X turned on his heel, but he was alone in the laboratory. Well, the Project was there, trying hard to get his attention.

“Laura?”

The thin plastic safety door at the back of the laboratory flapped open as the doctor's assistant came in, wheeling a trolley covered with electronic equipment. She leaned forward on the trolley, picking up the pace.

“Sorry, doctor,” she said, bringing the new equipment to a halt by the laboratory's main workbench. “The guys on the door were being jerks again.”

Doctor X nodded. “Well, the Director will be here shortly. No wonder they're jumpy. The whole facility seems to be on alert.”

Laura began unpacking small trays of components, arranging them on the workspace. “You'd think she wouldn't need to come in and see us. I mean, can't she see the whole city at once?”

“I think she likes to visit in person. It makes her feel like she's still one of us.”

“Creepy,” said Laura. She set down the last tray and pushed the trolley out of the way. Then she turned to the mesh cage. The door was open in preparation for the next phase of the operation, allowing access to the Project within.

The Project stood in the center of the cage, leaning back against an angled metal slab, around which was an elaborate framework of hinged struts, cables dangling.

The Project itself was huge, seven feet tall and made of polished silver. It's head was a rectangular box, with a man's face crudely constructed out of moving metal cut-outs: a nose, even eyebrows. Its jaw was a separate piece and it had two red lights for eyes, which lazily moved from the doctor to his assistant.

The robot had only one arm; the metal of its right-hand side was tarnished, the innards exposed along the flank, sheered clean off, the damage reaching as far down as the hip and upper thigh. From the open side, a dozen cables fed out to the instrument banks in the laboratory proper, with several more connected to the framework suspended over the slab.

“You and me, kid. What a team we could be,” said the robot, its amplified voice echoing around the laboratory like it was coming out of a PA. Laura flinched and turned quickly away. Doctor X just shook his head.

“The Project has been in fine form this morning.” He returned his attention to his clipboard. “Are we ready for today's test?”

Laura nodded and moved to the largest instrument bank nearest the cage. “The new cell is calibrated. All we have to do is install it and turn it on when the Director gets here. She should be impressed.”

Doctor X frowned but, secretly, he agreed. The Director couldn't fail to be impressed with their progress after seeing the latest prototype in action. He put the clipboard down and moved to the table, pulling a large dust cloth off a squat metal cylinder a foot in length and half that in width. Each end angled inward, and around the top rim were a series of slots. Doctor X peered into the top of the cylinder; just below the rim the object was capped with a black glass circle.

“Be a gem, pal,” said the voice. “Let me out and we can show the world what we got.”

The doctor ignored the voice.

Initially, the Project hadn't spoken. In the first weeks in the underground laboratory, the doctor's prime objective had been to get it to talk, because he thought if the robot could talk, it would make the work easier. Of course, he'd assumed the robot would be cooperative, just like all the other robots he'd seen as special advisor to the City Commissioner, back in the Empire State. True enough, the Project didn't look anything like the machine hybrids constructed for the Ironclad fleets, but the doctor did recognize the design from early upgraded prototypes the Navy had been toying with.

But then one morning he woke up in another place. His head hurt like all hell, but she'd made it better, made the pain go away. He recalled that morning, lying in an unfamiliar bed in what seemed to be a prison cell, a glowing blue woman floating a foot off the floor beside him.

Doctor X removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. She would be here soon. He had to get on with his work.

The robot – the Project, as the Director had called it – had started talking, eventually. But clearly it had been damaged in the transfer between here and there. It spoke nonsense most of the time, trying to get the doctor to free it, despite the fact that it was badly damaged and missing an arm.

Doctor X soon realized the machine would not be of any help. Over the next months he'd learned to tune out the incessant, deranged ramblings of the robot.

“Sweetheart, just think of it. Think of the possibilities.”

The Project has turned its attention to the doctor's assistant, Dr Richardson. A bright young thing from Columbia University, at just twenty-four she had advanced the field of electronics more than Doctor X ever had. The Director had brought her in before his arrival to prepare the laboratory. How exactly the Director had known he was coming was one of the mysteries that surrounded her; one that had led Doctor X to believe she could see the future.

As Laura would say,
creepy.
 

Suppressing a shiver, Doctor X walked into the cage and opened the front of the Project's casing. The robot lay motionless against the slab, but its red eyes fixed on the top of the doctor's head.

Inside the chest cavity was a circular port, six inches across and stretching clean through to the other side of the torso. The walls of the port were slotted at the compass points, and there were a series of small, glass-capped ports spiraling around the inside wall.

“You gonna give me back my heart, pal?”

The doctor looked up, despite himself. When he looked into the robot's eyes he thought he saw something else, something
moving
, like the eyes were the windows to some kind of machine soul.

Doctor X cleared his throat. Ridiculous. He stepped back out of the cage.

“Prepare the fusor,” he said. He didn't take his eyes off the Project's, but behind him he heard Laura walk to the other bench to start the warm-up procedure. The doctor licked his lips. “The cell can sit hot for a while. Then we just need to wait for the Director.”

“I am here, doctor.”

The doctor turned quickly, and blinked, the spell of the Project's red gaze broken. From the other end of the laboratory, Evelyn McHale glided three feet from the floor, her monochromatic form outlined in electric blue. As she got closer Doctor X felt the weird sensation behind his eyes again, the pressure, the buzzing in his head, the nauseating feeling of being pulled away, back to the
other place.
 

“Director,” the doctor began, swiping the glasses from his face and polishing them on his lab coat before replacing them with shaking hands. “Thank you for coming. I felt it was important for–”

“Are you ready for the next phase, Doctor X?”

The doctor glanced sideways at Laura, then stood to one side as the Director floated towards the cage to examine the Project.

The Project's head rocked back and forth, the red eyes scanning but seemingly unable to get a fix on the Director. It didn't speak, but the doctor could hear a faint sound, a whine, coming from it, like the machine's voice box was jammed. Or like the machine was… in pain.

Ridiculous.

“Doctor X?”

He jumped and found the Director looking at him. He nodded, then moved to join Laura at the instrument panel, where she was gently coaxing the controls. A series of dials sprang to life, along with a row of lights the same shade of red as the Project's eyes.

The doctor watched the dials for a moment and then nodded. He turned back to the Director and almost reached out to touch her shoulder, but thought better of it. He coughed.

“Sorry, yes, we're ready. If you would please step… ah,
move
… away from the cage, we can begin.”

The Director turned in the air, and the doctor suddenly found himself very near indeed to her veiled face. He held his breath, his skin tingling from the sensation of standing so close to her event horizon. She was beautiful and his heart raced, but not out of attraction. She looked grey and sad, but her eyes were electric blue and terrifying.

What things could she see, he thought, and then he gulped. The Director smiled and drifted backwards.

“How is the isolation cage performing?”

Doctor X paused, the question a distraction. The cage in which the Project was placed was a remarkable device in itself, and, if the doctor was honest, perhaps even more of an achievement than the fusor reactor. Anything within was isolated from the universe around it; in theory, a simple application of the properties of the tether that connected New York to the other place which allowed the interior of the cage to exist
elsewhere
, while still being an accessible part of the workshop. In practice, Doctor X hadn't quite been able to get his head around it. It was the Director herself who had done much of the work.

But it worked. And if anything went wrong with the experiments – anything
nuclear
– the cage would contain it. That was some comfort, at least.

“Doctor X?”

He blinked, and shook his head. “I'm sorry. The cage is performing admirably. The isolation field removes all interference from the instruments well.”

The Director nodded, apparently happy. “Please,” she said, “continue.”

The doctor turned back to the instruments and clutched at the edge of the console, pressing his fingernails white. He had to get a grip, had to control himself. It would not be long now and the work would be complete. Of course, what fate the Director had in store for him afterwards he could only guess. He hoped – prayed – that she would simply forget him as his usefulness diminished.

“Dr Richardson, are we ready?”

“Ready.”

Laura moved to push a small wheeled console close to the door of the cage. The Project's red eyes rolled lazily in her direction.

“Sweetheart, you're killing me here.”

The doctor coughed, and lifted the cylinder from the trolley.

“Does it often talk?”

The doctor froze. He glanced back at the Director, but she was watching the Project. He hefted the cylinder against his chest and adjusted his glasses with one hand.

“No,” he said quickly. From the corner of his eye he saw Laura glance sideways at him.

Doctor X moved into the cage and lifted the cylinder, mating it with the port in the Project's chest. He twisted it slightly and carefully pushed it in until the black rim of the cylinder was almost level with the top of the port. Reaching up, he pulled a three-pronged clamp connected to a sprung arm down, and adjusting the spread of the fingers, attached them to the slots on the cylinder's rim. Clamp connected, he gripped the sprung arm and twisted, using the leverage to rotate the cylinder further. At half a turn, there was a click as the cylinder was aligned with the slots on the inside of the port, and the unit slid another inch into the Project's chest. At once, the glass cap on the end of the cylinder brightened to a reddish glow. The doctor peered into the cap, and then turned to his assistant.

“Go ahead, Dr Richardson.”

She nodded, her hands moving over the controls.

“Reaction engaged,” she said. “Magnetic field stable. Ionization rate constant. Injection to commence in five, four…”

The doctor detached the clamp from the cylinder as Laura began the countdown, and then quickly moved out of the cage. As the countdown reached one, he swung the door closed and engaged the catch, then stepped back. He risked a glance at the Director watching him, a smile playing over her face.

“One.”

The reddish glow from the cylinder flared to a bright orange-red, the light moving in a clockwise spiral. The Project's eyes rolled, but it remained silent, save for the quiet whining.

The doctor peered over Laura's shoulder, reading the dials on the console. He nodded to himself.

“You have made much progress, doctor,” said the Director.

The doctor looked up and nodded again, removing his glasses.