In 1989, Lakesh himself had been the first successful long-distance matter transfer of a human subject, traveling only a hundred yards from a prototype gateway chamber to a receiving booth. That initial success was replicated many times, and with the replication came the modifications and improvements of the quantum interphase mat-trans inducers, reaching the point where they were manufactured in modular form. As Brigid understood it, the Cerberus redoubt had been primarily devoted to mass-producing the gateway systems.
Although the jumps through the quantum field were not at the speed of light, rarely did they comprise more than three or four minutes. One of the lights on the map should have flashed yellow, whether the destination lock had been set for Texas or Japan.
No light flashed in any state, country or continent. Lakesh turned away, frowning deeply. “This shouldn’t happen. The odds are so astronomically high of anyone having the knowledge or technical expertise to alter the modulation frequencies, they aren’t even worth entertaining.”
Addressing Bry, he asked, “Did you locate a satellite pix of the region?”
“Yes, sir.” He thumbed a pair of buttons on a console’s keyboard. “On the main monitor.”
Lakesh and Brigid moved to a four-foot square of ground glass. The screen displayed a high-altitude view of a dark, barren terrain. The image was dominated by a black crater, like an ugly puncture wound punched through the crust of the earth to its center. Brigid had been very surprised to learn that Cerberus was uplinked with a Vela-class reconnaissance satellite, as well as with Comsat communications. Like everyone bred in the villes, she had been taught that the few satellites still in orbit were free-floating pieces of scrap metal.
The Vela carried narrow-band multispectral scanners that detected the electromagnetic radiation reflected by every object on Earth, including subsurface geomagnetism. The scanners were tied into a high-resolution photographic-relay system.
The Comsat kept track of Cerberus personnel when they were away from the redoubt through telemetric signals relayed by subcutaneous transponders. The transponder was a nonharmful radioactive chemical that bound itself to the glucose in the blood and a middle layer of epidermis. Based on organic nano-technology, it transmitted heart rate, brain-wave patterns, respiration and blood count.
Scowling at the image on the screen, Lakesh demanded, “Did you run it through the multispectral scanners?”
“I did,” replied Bry a bit defensively. “I detected nothing out of the ordinarythat is, out of the ordinary for Washington Hole. That pix is only about a week old and shows no activity in the vicinity whatsoever.”
Lakesh made an impatient spitting sound. “This is really irritating.”
“Are you reacting to this problem as a cerebral one, or a visceral one?” Brigid asked.
Lakesh swung his head around toward her. “Explain.”
“Are you sure your ego isn’t the tiniest bit threatened by the possibility that someone other than you can tweak the gateways?”
He snorted disdainfully. “Don’t be ridiculous. I was the project overseer. I knew more about the transducers two hundred years ago than anyone alive. I certainly know more about them than anyone who might be alive now.”
Shaking his head, he eyed the image of Washington Hole, then the Mercator map. “It’s a matter that needs investigating, that’s all.”
“The latest in what seems like an endless line,” Brigid said sharply. “Who gets to play detective for you this time? Who do you volunteer to take the risks?”
Lakesh’s rheumy blue eyes widened behind the lenses of his spectacles. Reproachfully he replied, “You sound more like Kane than yourself.”
“In which case, it’s probably for the best he and I can’t produce offspring.” The instant the words left her tongue she regretted them. Bry swiveled his head toward her in surprise, then he quickly found something else to occupy his attention. Lakesh blinked in owlish embarrassment.
Lowering her voice, Brigid said, “I apologize.”
Lakesh cleared his throat. “No need. Besides, you raised a stingingly pertinent point. I shouldn’t always be so arbitrary in my selection of” he paused and smiled “volunteers. Particularly since this mission is of a technical nature. Mr. Bry”
“Oh, no!” Bry’s normally high voice hit a shrill note of angry, dogged determination. “I do not volunteer to jump into a hellzone. No way, no how. You can boot me off the cliff, but I categorically and unequivocally refuse to go.”
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