Fisher cannot hear a breath being taken, and held.
He prods the screen. Nothing happens. The schematic, so easily manipulated, so pliable just a few seconds before, is unresponsive. He jabs at the screen a few more times and sits back, exasperated. Getting the tech-guys to fix it would be impossible at this time of year and he couldn’t just pull the plug on the display, not on these machines, because it might affect the whole network.
He looks at his watch. The time is 11.17. Wrong date; too late. It takes him a moment to realize that the second hand has stopped. He takes out his mobile phone. It’s the same: 11.17.
He waits. And waits.
11.17 it stays.
In his peripheral vision Fisher sees a man, standing, just a few metres away.
He gasps.
“What...Jesus, who the hell are you?”
The stranger is tall, in his 60s, his bearing is erect and motionless; face impassive, dark three-piece suit immaculate.
“I don’t have a name,” says the man calmly, a smile in his eyes, “but you can call me...Edward. I believe your grandfather had a friend by that name, a travelling magician, and you remember him fondly. I am his age and build, and I even sound like him. I’m Edward.”
“You’re not on the team,” states Fisher. “How did you get past security, the scanners? How do you know all that about me?”
“No, I am not on the team, Dr Fisher.”
Fisher looks uncertain. He waits, scratches his dark stubble.
“OK,” he says, picking up the landline. “Let’s find out who you are, how about that, um, Edward?”
There’s no dialling tone. The line is dead. He’d been shown how to act calm with an intruder, what to do—how not to become agitated. But an afternoon’s training is no preparation for the real thing. He slams the phone down and jumps away from the desk.
“Your research, Dr Fisher.”
Fisher holds up his hands.
“Whoever you are, you have to leave. You shouldn’t be in here.” He stops. “What about my research?”
“It has provoked...strong interest.”
Suddenly, Fisher thinks he understands.
“Look, if you’re from the Tevatron Institute, I’ve told them that I’m not interested in a new position right now. It’s a very generous offer they’ve made but...”
Edward shakes his head.
“Pan-dimensional entities, Dr Fisher. I am their conduit, their means of communication. These entities appreciate the effort you have expended, and they applaud your ingenuity...”
Pretending to take Edward seriously, Fisher edges away, nodding. It all sounds reasonable. Staying calm is very important with people like this. There’s nothing, outwardly, to be alarmed about. It’s all nice and calm and reasonable. That’s the best way, surely, of dealing with people who are being unreasonable. Don’t give them what they want. Don’t get angry.
Ignoring what he’d been taught for the second time, Fisher springs forward, away from Edward and sprints past the banks of black-screened workstations towards the lab door. He slams the big red alarm button, but there’s no klaxon, no flashing lights. He hits it again, pulls at a door that won’t open. He heaves at it a few times, peers through the glass partition that separates the lab from a side office. There’s no one around to help. But there is a connecting door on the far-side of the next room...
He picks up a chair, holds it out, legs forward, keeping Edward at bay. But Edward has not moved an inch.
“Really, Dr Fisher, there is no need for this.”
“Please let me go.”
Edward stiffens.
“Not yet.”
“What do you want?”
“To talk.”
Maybe that’s fine. Maybe he’s harmless. Easy enough just to hear him out. There’s no problem with that.
Let the man speak.
Fisher throws the chair at the side office window. It smashes through, clatteringglassshattering onto the hard floor, tinkling into silence.
Silence.
And then the chair comes back through the window, its trajectory reversing. It flies towards Fisher and before he knows what’s happening he’s holding it again. The window unbreaks. It becomes whole.
Whimpering, Fisher drops the chair as if it had burned his hands. He stares at it, at the unbroken window, hardly able to comprehend what has just taken place. Calmly, Edward walks over and sets the steel-legged plastic chair the right way up.
“It is 11.17 and 23 seconds, Dr Fisher. It will stay that time until we have finished our conversation. I suggest you accept the situation and tailor you responses accordingly.”
Fisher is quiet now. He has difficulty swallowing, standing. His legs are suddenly weak.
