Bunker Ten, page 4
part #1 of Dark Scotland Series
There was snapping of branches at the edge of the clearing and the bear broke cover in exactly the same place as the moose it had been chasing. It thundered towards the dying animal but there was no doubt in Sherman’s mind what the real quarry was. Sure enough, the grizzly surged past the prone moose, saliva arcing from slack black and pink jaws, tongue lolling over knife sized fangs, heading for the lean-to.
Sherman dropped the empty Sharps and ran.
The bear was twenty yards away and gaining fast when he drew the Colt from his belt. He fired four shots, twisting as he ran, never slackening his pace. The revolver bucked violently with each shot, its bullets whistling harmlessly into the night. Still, it was enough to startle the huge predator, which veered off at an angle and headed, grunting, back for cover.
Sherman plunged into the trees, thrusting away the branches that whipped his face and snagged on his clothes. He burst onto a narrow deer track and sprinted along it, his breath whooshing in milky bursts. He stumbled over tree roots and hidden burrows until common sense told him that this was a suicidal course to take. Flinging himself into the undergrowth, he collapsed against a tree trunk, clutching the Colt in both shaking hands. He quickly checked the chambers.
Two bullets left. The rest of the ammunition was back in the lean to. So were his gloves.
There was no sign of the bear.
15.25
Simon stood up, blinking rapidly. He stared at the others in the project room as if in a daze.
“Dave. Will you come and look at this?” He walked quickly to the whiteboard, wiped it clean and began writing a mass of equations. “Please. I think I’m on to something here.”
“No can do, wee man!” Dave yelled. “I’m kickin some fat boy ass.”
“I just killed you.” Barn said pleasantly.
“Oh, no! I dinnae… stupid game, anyway.” Dave struggled to his feet and came over to the whiteboard.
“You’re gonnae give yourself a breakdown working on this dippit idea,” he told Simon, bending round the still scribbling boy to see what he was setting down. “If Einstein or Neil Bors or Schrodinger couldne get round the time travel problem then neither can…”
His mouth dropped open as he scanned the last lines of notations. Cruickshank hauled himself lazily off his bed once more and wandered over.
“What crazy theory has he come up with this time?”
Dave removed his hat. His mouth was still open. Cruickshank followed his eyes, racing across the jumble of numbers and signs.
“Oh my God,” he whispered.
15.30
After an hour sitting silently Sherman could no longer feel his hands. He tucked the gun back in his waistband, unfastened his thick hide coat and tried to warm his fingers by jamming them under his armpits. It did no good. Finally he got up and began to tramp up and down on the spot in an effort to keep warm
He rubbed at his temple to see if he could feel his face. Clumps of frozen eyebrow came off in his hand. He started to cry and the tears solidified on his face. Another hour in these temperatures and he knew he would be dead.
With a sob he climbed back onto the deer track and headed towards the rim of the clearing.
15.34
The teens were clustered round the whiteboard, gazing at the mass of tangled equations.
“Excuse my ignorance,” Leslie said. “But my speciality is electronics and computer programmes. I don’t even know what I’m looking at.”
“Me neither,” Barn said. “The math seems right. But… eh… I can’t tell what it means.”
Simon didn’t care. He was so excited he would have explained what he had written to the tea lady. He turned to Barn and gripped the boy’s meaty shoulders.
“According to Einstein, the closer you get to travelling at the speed of light the slower time goes, yeah?”
“You ken who Einstein is, don’t you Barn?” Dave chipped in.
“Of course I do,” Barn said scathingly. “He had a lot of hair.”
“Let me put it this way. Suppose you were to leave earth on a spaceship that travels just below the speed of light. Because you’re going so fast, time on your spaceship is slower than on earth. So you come back after a year on your spaceship only to find that, on earth, it’s actually three hundred years later.”
“I don’t get that either,” Barn said.
“Let me put it another way,” Simon began.
“You start explaining Einstein’s theories to him,” Cruickshank interrupted. “And three hundred years will have passed on earth before he understands it.”
“Just trust us Barn,” Jimmy said. “It’s been proved.”
“Since time slows down the closer you get to light speed then, in theory, it would actually reverse if you went faster than light. In other words you could travel back in time.”
“The problem is that nothing can travel faster than light, eh?” Dave added. “Not even mah dad on his way tae the pub.”
“I had a crazy idea I’ve been working on,” Simon continued. “Suppose Einstein didn’t quite get the whole picture.”
“Aye man. Einstein was bound tae be wrong. He wasnae near as smart as you, eh?”
“Even geniuses can miss something vital,” Simon insisted. “Nothing can travel faster than light, sure, but suppose light itself wasn’t travelling as fast as it could? What if light had some kind of internal brake that kept it at a slower speed? Suppose you found that brake and worked out how to disable it?”
Barn concentrated hard.
“Light would go faster?”
“It would go faster,” Jimmy nodded. “Faster than it does now.”
Simon was trembling. “I think I just figured out how to do it.”
“Simon,” Leslie said, her voice filled with awe. “Are you saying you’ve proved time travel is possible?”
If you could disable the brake and harness light at its faster speed then, yes, you could travel back in time. And if you could apply that brake more strongly, you could also go forward in time.”
Barn grinned at his companion. “Does this mean the Machine will work?”
“No, it won’t.” Simon shook his head. “We don’t have the technology in this lab to put the theory into practice.” He clenched his fists in a small gesture of triumph. “But I bet it can be done.”
“Jesus, wee man. You’ll win a Nobel Prize for this.” Dave was still staring admiringly at the formula.
“I’m going to call it ‘Stripped Light’.” Simon turned to the others. “Help me get this written down on the computer before the whiteboard gets hit by lightning or this place blows up or something.”
“That’s hardly likely.”
“I’m not taking any chances.” Simon clutched the notebook to his chest and ran back into the dormitory, plonking himself down at his console. The others quickly followed, clustering round the ecstatic youngster.
All except Cruickshank, who was still staring, transfixed at the board.
“To hell with the Nobel Prize,” he muttered, scanning the mass of calculations.
“This thing is worth an absolute fortune.”
15.58
The fire in the clearing was reduced to glowing embers and there was no sign of the bear. Sherman had little doubt, however, that it was close by. He tried to get the pistol out of his belt but his fingers wouldn’t even move, never mind curl round the stock. He had to reach the fire and warm himself before it went out.
Sherman launched himself out of the trees and began to run towards the lean-to. After a few seconds his frozen legs gave way and he crumpled into a heap. Crying uncontrollably he began to crawl. With each thrust his uncovered hands sank into the snow, spreading the numbness past his wrists and into his forearms. Stumbling, cursing and sobbing he threw himself forwards, pulled himself upright and flung himself forwards again.
Finally he collapsed beside the fire, holding his hands as close to its glowing heart as he dared, until smoke began to form around his fingers. Agonising pains shot through the knuckles and up his wrists but he gritted his teeth and kept them centimetres from the radiant wood. Sherman pulled the gun from his belt using his palms and tried to hold it. It dropped through his worthless hands into in the snow.
There was a bellow from the edge of the forest as the Grizzly emerged from the trees and headed towards him. Sherman trapped the gun in the crook of his knee and tried to cock the hammer using the palm of his hand, but the revolver kept slipping away. He forced one finger over the trigger with his other hand but knew immediately there was no way it could pull it, even if he had been able to point the weapon.
The bear had covered three quarters of the distance between them.
Sherman scuttled over to the powder barrel, raised himself up and brought both elbows crashing down on the top. The wood splintered. He did it again. The bear steadily closed the gap, never making a sound. Its face showed no anger. There was no malice in its black eyes. Only simple determination to reach its victim and tear it apart.
At the third try the snow-spoiled lid of the keg broke. Sherman scooped up a burning stick from the fire and plunged it into the shattered top.
As the bear reached him and a claw tipped arm cut into his chest, a ball of white hot flame engulfed the lean-to and blasted them both into oblivion.
16.00
Leslie, Simon and Jimmy Hicks were playing baseball a few hundred yards from the main buildings of Pinewood, in a scrubby triangle of grass laughingly known as the exercise yard. Beyond that a yellow painted line marked the farthest point that unauthorised personnel were allowed to stray from the main compound. Behind the line was a twenty yard stripe of grass. After that, a swathe of forest leading to a high electrified fence, with a lookout tower visible above the tops of the trees.
This was the location of the secondary gate, much smaller than the main one and the only other exit from Pinewood. As well as the tower, the fence and gate were guarded by laser topped cameras and a lock that could only be activated by a constantly changing security code.
“What the hell are we doing? Simon was almost apoplectic. “I’ve just made one of the major scientific breakthroughs of all time, and we’re out here for a ball game?”
“You’re just scared of getting beaten by a girl.” Leslie wiggled the bat at him.
“I should be in there doing calculations!”
“Will you calm down?” Leslie continued breezily. “You’re as uptight as Hicks here. You could run a power station off his latent anger.”
Simon blinked in surprise.
“She reads too many women’s magazines.” Jimmy tossed the surprised boy the ball. “What you’ve done is brilliant, Simon. But it’s Christmas Eve and none of the top technicians are around. They’re all concentrating on whatever is going on in Bunker 10.”
“You’re up first, Jimmy. Try not to trip over your own explanation.” Leslie handed the boy her bat.
“We should tell someone, at least,” Simon said stubbornly. “This is important to me.” He pointed a finger at Jimmy Hicks. “What if your escape attempt screws this up?”
“Leslie.” Jimmy ignored the accusation. “You throw.”
The girl fetched the ball back from Simon, still absently holding it by his side. Jimmy took up a stance, legs apart. Leslie swung her arm back behind her head and let fly with a near perfect pitch. Even Simon was momentarily distracted.
But Jimmy made no attempt to strike and the ball whistled past his head, landing several yards away and bouncing across the torn grass.
“I’ve been practising,” Leslie whooped, running after the baseball. Jimmy turned quickly to Simon.
“Listen. How do you think the military will react to a thirteen year old boy wiping the floor with their top scientists, not to mention beating Einstein at his own game?” He looked round to make sure nobody in uniform was within earshot. “You think they want that kind of publicity focussed on Pinewood?”
Simon’s eyes widened.
“Heads up!” Hicks spun round as Leslie unleashed another sizzling throw. The ball whipped between himself and Simon, almost taking the boy’s glasses off. Jimmy let it go.
“What Hicks is trying to say is that we’re all in trouble.” Leslie came running past, grinning in mock triumph.
“She’s awfully cheerful for a Goth.”
“Don’t let her hear you say that.” Jimmy’s expression became serious. “She’s right though. The military advantages of faster than light travel are incalculable. Top Brass aren’t going to let you publish your findings or even talk about them. There’s no way they’ll allow you to take the credit.”
“That’s not fair!”
“This is the army.” Jimmy took up a baseball stance once more. “What’s worse is that the rest of us know what you’ve done. Now we’re all at risk. Stand back.”
Simon stumbled away, his mouth open. The ball whizzed past Jimmy once more and Leslie raced after it like some dark but happy sprite.
Simon’s lip trembled and he felt hot bubbles of misery clog his throat. This discovery was his. Even the great Jimmy Hicks couldn’t do what he had done. The army couldn’t just take it away.
Only he knew they could. He clenched and unclenched his fists, fighting not to cry.
“We need to create this escape route more than ever.” Jimmy said urgently. “It’s not just an opportunity to for Leslie and I to sneak off any more. We may all have to get out some time soon – and take your discovery with us.”
“You mean it?” Simon blinked back tears.
“Ready, Hicks?” Leslie said. But there was something different about her voice.
“The same angle as the other times, only this time, twice the velocity,” Jimmy replied. “Think you can do it?”
“I got magical hands.” Leslie grinned and rubbed the ball against her leg in preparation.
“No putting me off!”
She drew back her arm and let fly. The ball travelled faster than Simon’s eye could follow, a white missile heading straight at Jimmy Hicks. He took one step back and swung with every ounce of strength his arms could muster. The bat connected with a nerve jangling crack and the ball arced up and away into the sky. Simon gave a gasp as it sailed over the tops of the trees and vanished into the forest.
“Nice shot,” Leslie trotted over and giving Jimmy a kiss.
“It’s all in the angle.”
“There’s one of your transmitters inside that ball isn’t there?” Simon said suddenly.
“What makes you say that?”
Simon pointed to the spot where the baseball had come down.
A hundred yards further, in exactly the same direction, was the lookout tower guarding the back gate.
16.10
Sherman’s eyes shot open. He was lying on a soft pallet in an empty room. A woman in a white lab coat stood beside his head. Sherman grabbed her arm and she let out a small squeak.
“I need a mirror, he urged. “Get me a mirror. Now.”
The woman pulled a compact from her pocket and held it up. Sherman peered at his refection. A short, broad face with cropped hair, not ugly, but with grey stubble and heavy bags under crinkled eyes. Apart from an old scar on his forehead, however, the reflection was unmarked.
“My eyebrows are still there,” he said with obvious relief.
“Sherman. You deliberately blew yourself up.” The woman snapped her compact shut. “Eyebrows being intact are the least of your worries.”
“I like being able to frown.”
“The Colonel wants to see you in his ready room,” she said in a business-like manner. “Right away.”
The Colonel appeared to be in his mid-thirties, very young to hold such a rank. He was tall and fit with cropped grey hair and held himself ramrod straight, even sitting at his plain wide table. Sherman plonked himself in a smaller chair near the window. There was no other furniture in the room.
What the hell just happened to me?” He didn’t bother to salute. Despite his military demeanour, Sherman wasn’t a soldier.
“Get a bit of a shock?”
“I’ve tested plenty of virtual simulations before, but absolutely nothing like that.” Sherman looked down at his body as if he couldn’t believe he was still in one piece. “Not even close. I don’t even know where I was supposed to be.”
“The wilderness of Alaska, around the year 1745,” the Colonel replied. “It’s pretty authentic too - there was a freeze on that year.”
“How do you know what Alaska was like in 1745?”
“I read a lot.” The Colonel took a sip of water. “The Alaska simulation is designed to place combatants in totally unfamiliar situations to see how they react, like fighting a bear in sub-zero temperatures using only antiquated weapons.”
“The technology is stunning.” Sherman was impressed, despite himself.
“It’s still being improved but its good, isn’t it?”
“Are bears really that smart?” Sherman shuddered at the thought. “It drove a moose into the clearing before it attacked, just to fool me.”
“Yes, the bear.” The Colonel stroked a long chin. “The bear is a new aspect of virtual programming altogether. It… eh… learns from previous encounters, just like a real creature would. You might say it gets smarter with each simulation.”
“It just learned a new way to get beat,” Sherman said nonchalantly.
“Sherman,” the Colonel snorted. “You blew yourself up along with it.”
“You told me that my mission was to kill the bear. I killed the bear.”
“You killed yourself too.”
Sherman looked evenly at the officer.
“That’s what it took,” he said.
The Colonel shook his head in exasperation. He opened a drawer in his desk and brought out an electronic chart. Sherman stayed silent. Eventually the uniformed man spoke.
