Section F: Fairy Tales & Physicists

Chapter 31

Given the otherworldly riffraff circulating below the control room, it was understandable Featherstone had retracted the ladder leading up to his skewed safe haven. What was less understandable was his refusal to lower it again.

"I'm sorry, Agent Fields." The faint voice coming down through the broken windows was even more reedy than usual. "I simply can't, at the moment. You'll just have to climb up."

Fields stood blinking in disbelief—but not for long. He was too tired to be really, properly outraged. Restricting himself to a few choice obscenities, muttered under his breath, he wearily began the climb up to the control room. Again.

Arriving, several minutes and a few new abrasions later, to find a seated Featherstone huddled over one of the room's plethora of control panels. The scientist looked up, his face drawn and sickly in the green light flooding through the shattered windows.

"My apologies, Agent..."—evidently in pain, he winced and drew in a sharp intake of breath—"Fields. My attempts to shut down the portal are at a critical stage. I simply couldn't leave my instruments, even for a moment."

"Don't sweat it." Despite the scientist's obvious distress, and despite being fully aware the wounded man's day had no doubt been even worse than his own, Fields found it hard to feel much sympathy. Yes, Featherstone may have been motivated by nothing more sinister than loneliness and the desire to test his theories, but no matter how innocent his intentions, there was no escaping the absolute shitstorm of chaotic consequences the uber-nerd's actions had wrought. For a reminder, all it took was a look outside—or in the city morgue. "You just need to get it done. Now, what's this big problem?"

"As it turns out, I need a little help. And don't worry, agent—I'm determined to make this right."

"Help?" replied Fields, narrowing his eyes. "What kind of help?"

"Well, to effect a collapse in the probability waveform, the quantum-flux generator needs to be shut down at the precise moment the Heisenberg-suppressor is deactivated. With the damage the control room has suffered, I can't do both from here."

Fields didn't even bother trying to make sense of any of that. "Spare me the details, Featherstone. Just tell me what I need to do."

"You see, in order to interrupt the phase-shifting effect of the cultural-resonator, the amperage needs to be—"

"Frank?"

"Yes, Agent Fields?"

"What—do—I—need—to—do?"

"Oh, yes—sorry." Sheepishly, the scientist held out a pair of pliers. "There's a control console toward the back of the room—the black one over there. On its rear side, near the base, you'll find a panel. When I give the signal, you need to cut the cable located behind that panel. Do you understand?"

"Listen, brainbox—I may not have a PhD"—Fields snatched the pliers—"but I'm not an idiot." He stomped over to the console in question and after a brief inspection, located the panel. Crouching down, he prised it free, and was relieved to find that what it concealed was indeed a single, solitary cable. He really didn't think his nerves were up to any red-wire/blue-wire/oh-crap-we're-all-gonna-die shenanigans. "Okay, I'm ready," he called.

"Excellent work, agent—well done." It was becoming increasingly clear to Fields why Featherstone didn't have any friends. "Now, it's difficult for me to predict precisely when the crucial moment will arrive, but it's vital we act swiftly when it does. Please hold your position and be ready to cut the instant I give the signal."

"Fine. But let's try to make it quick, okay? It's been a long day."

"For you and me both, Agent Fields. For you and me both. Very well, sit tight."