universes. So why can we only seem to access one, eh? No one has thought about the implications of that. I think the whole alternative universe theory is complete nonsense. We would be moving in this universe. The only one there is. Time travel, to put it bluntly. If that is the case, we have to stop now. We need to start again. From the beginning. Immediately.’
‘We can’t possibly start again,’ he protested. ‘Think of the cost. Why are you telling me this?’
‘Because I’m right. I feel it.’
At this point, you see, I could not explain properly. Still, I didn’t understand why he was so keen on dismissing my concerns. He knew how I worked, and knew that my instincts were fundamental. Besides, I thought he would be happy about overturning two centuries’ worth of physics. What better way of making a name for yourself?
Instead, he took refuge in pomposity, muttering about budget projections. It didn’t make sense until I realised that he was negotiating to sell everything to Oldmanter. A functioning, usable device that gave the possibility of infinite space and resources at no risk was his central selling point. Quite a good one, if only what he was telling them had any truth to it.
Something too dangerous to use except for small experiments would have opened no wallets. Besides, he was terribly conservative in approach. Faced with a choice between my hunch and generations of scientific labour, his only response was to demand proof. It was part of his character I never understood or appreciated. Why wouldn’t he just take my word for it?
*
The summons to the emergency meeting arrived at four o’clock in the morning, an event rare enough to cause all concerned to wake, dress and move with remarkable speed. Even rarer was the way it was done; no dream to jerk the sleeper awake with images of what was needed; not even a message coming through the communications system. No; a person, an individual, actually hammered on the door, and kept hammering until the occupant on the other side was sleepily, confusedly awake.
There was no explanation for such bizarre behaviour, so the six people who arrived at the anonymous underground office were suitably worried in advance. What could possibly have happened? Some speculated about a reactor melting down; the more bureaucratically minded gloomily decided it was a test of emergency procedures launched by some over-enthusiastic zealot.
Jack More thought none of these things. He didn’t think at all, and not simply because he was tired; he was the only person who had no obvious reason to be there. He was merely a security officer. He was curious, certainly, but he did not jump to conclusions. If there was any need to panic he was quite happy to let others worry themselves silly. Whatever had gone wrong couldn’t possibly be his fault. It was one of the virtues of insignificance.
His presence was enough to make the others worry all the more. They looked at him, half wanting to ask why he was there. A meeting, in person, in the middle of the night, was a good reason to think there might be something to worry about.
‘Sit down, please.’ Robert Hanslip had walked in. The boss who controlled the money, the individual on whose approval depended the lives and careers of every person in the room, everyone on the island. No one liked him, although whether they did or not was irrelevant. All admitted that he was very efficient. Some believed he was highly intelligent, although few would say so, lest they get a lengthy – and, recently, obsessive – diatribe from Angela Meerson on the precise size of the large hole where his intelligence should have been located. No one in the room really knew him anyway. He never mixed with people of a lower grade,and they had noted already that no senior figures were at this strange meeting.
Hanslip’s weakness was a somewhat ostentatious self-presentation. He affected an old-fashioned style, and had had his metabolism tweaked so
‘We can’t possibly start again,’ he protested. ‘Think of the cost. Why are you telling me this?’
‘Because I’m right. I feel it.’
At this point, you see, I could not explain properly. Still, I didn’t understand why he was so keen on dismissing my concerns. He knew how I worked, and knew that my instincts were fundamental. Besides, I thought he would be happy about overturning two centuries’ worth of physics. What better way of making a name for yourself?
Instead, he took refuge in pomposity, muttering about budget projections. It didn’t make sense until I realised that he was negotiating to sell everything to Oldmanter. A functioning, usable device that gave the possibility of infinite space and resources at no risk was his central selling point. Quite a good one, if only what he was telling them had any truth to it.
Something too dangerous to use except for small experiments would have opened no wallets. Besides, he was terribly conservative in approach. Faced with a choice between my hunch and generations of scientific labour, his only response was to demand proof. It was part of his character I never understood or appreciated. Why wouldn’t he just take my word for it?
*
The summons to the emergency meeting arrived at four o’clock in the morning, an event rare enough to cause all concerned to wake, dress and move with remarkable speed. Even rarer was the way it was done; no dream to jerk the sleeper awake with images of what was needed; not even a message coming through the communications system. No; a person, an individual, actually hammered on the door, and kept hammering until the occupant on the other side was sleepily, confusedly awake.
There was no explanation for such bizarre behaviour, so the six people who arrived at the anonymous underground office were suitably worried in advance. What could possibly have happened? Some speculated about a reactor melting down; the more bureaucratically minded gloomily decided it was a test of emergency procedures launched by some over-enthusiastic zealot.
Jack More thought none of these things. He didn’t think at all, and not simply because he was tired; he was the only person who had no obvious reason to be there. He was merely a security officer. He was curious, certainly, but he did not jump to conclusions. If there was any need to panic he was quite happy to let others worry themselves silly. Whatever had gone wrong couldn’t possibly be his fault. It was one of the virtues of insignificance.
His presence was enough to make the others worry all the more. They looked at him, half wanting to ask why he was there. A meeting, in person, in the middle of the night, was a good reason to think there might be something to worry about.
‘Sit down, please.’ Robert Hanslip had walked in. The boss who controlled the money, the individual on whose approval depended the lives and careers of every person in the room, everyone on the island. No one liked him, although whether they did or not was irrelevant. All admitted that he was very efficient. Some believed he was highly intelligent, although few would say so, lest they get a lengthy – and, recently, obsessive – diatribe from Angela Meerson on the precise size of the large hole where his intelligence should have been located. No one in the room really knew him anyway. He never mixed with people of a lower grade,and they had noted already that no senior figures were at this strange meeting.
Hanslip’s weakness was a somewhat ostentatious self-presentation. He affected an old-fashioned style, and had had his metabolism tweaked so
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