《The Bergman Incursion》


 Chapter One - The Anomaly

    "I don''t like it," said Vincent Duffy, taking off his hat to wipe perspiration from his forehead. "I get the creepy sensation that it''s watching me."


    "Yeah," replied David Jeffcott, standing beside him. "I get that as well."


    "It just feels, I don''t know." Duffy ran his hand over his almost bald head, then replaced his hat as the hot Arizona sun began to burn his scalp. "It feels wrong. You know?"


    Jeffcott nodded his agreement. The army had set up a perimeter around it. It looked like a straight line of soldiers and vehicles standing in the dusty prairie, their engines constantly running so they could be moved forward as the anomaly advanced behind them. The line of uniformed men, spaced around twenty metres apart, looked almost straight because the anomaly was so big. At least twenty miles across, they''d told him, and growing bigger all the time. Even as he watched, the infantryman in their dusty, sweat stained uniforms were edging warily away from the shimmering, rippling surface behind them, following their orders to remain ten metres away from it and to turn aside any foolhardy members of the public who tried to go in.


    They glanced nervously behind themselves as they did so, as if the mere proximity might affect them. And who knows? Jeffcott thought. Maybe it would. Even as they came to a halt at their new posts, standing smartly, trying to give the impression of calm self assurance, Jeffcott saw their eyes shifting uneasily, all too aware of the whatever-it-was getting closer behind them. Creeping steadily, inch by inch. Silently, stealthily, like an assassin with a knife in his hand. So far it had grown at a steady, predictable pace, but who knew if it might suddenly leap forward, to engulf everyone with the audacity to stand so close to it?


    They could actually feel it behind them. Jeffcott knew. He knew because he could feel it too. It reminded him of a time back in school, twenty years before, when his physics teacher Mr Bannister had been teaching him and his classmates about static electricity. He''d had a huge Van De Graaff generator standing on a desk in the middle of the room and as he cranked it up he''d told them to touch it, one at a time, or in a chain holding hands. The static charge had made their hair stand on end, even the small hairs of their arms and legs.


    It had been a tickly, prickly feeling, he remembered. It wasn''t quite the same as the feeling the anomaly was causing him, but it was the closest sensation he could think of even though they''d said there was no static electricity associated with it, or anything else they could measure. He wondered whether it was partly caused by adrenalin. Fear of the unknown. The unmistakable feeling that it was violating the world somehow. The deep, ingrained knowledge coming from some ancient and primitive part of the brain that this thing was not supposed to exist.


    They''d come for him while he was giving a lecture to his college class. Three big men in black suits, slipping into the lecture hall and standing quietly at the back. He remembered it reminding him of that scene in the movies when they wanted the implausibly attractive expert to talk to the newly arrived alien spaceship. They''d waited patiently for him to finish his lecture, ignoring curious glances from the eighteen year olds in his physics class. Then they had come striding forward while he was packing away his notes. He had already guessed what it was about, of course. The anomaly had been in the news for days beforehand. There was no way you could hide something that big. Especially not when towns of thousands of people had had to be evacuated. And he''d known he was specialised in the same very narrow field of physics as the people who were almost certainly responsible for the anomaly. He''d been expecting to be picked up, therefore. They''d barely had to say a word to him. He had just nodded, told them he needed to pop home to get a few things, and went with them.


    They had driven him to the airport and put him on a plane to Arizona, where the anomaly had popped into existence. More men in black suits had met him at Phoenix airport and put him in a big black hummer that drove right up to the aircraft on the tarmac. As Jeffcott had climbed down the steps he''d seen that the airport was full of soldiers, mostly standing around as if on guard, and that the sky above him was humming with helicopters.


    As they''d driven out of the city, on a lane kept clear for the use of official vehicles, he''d seen that every other lane was choked with traffic trying to get out of the city. They passed a car that had tried to use the official lane, a desperate father trying to get his family out of the city faster. Soldiers had forced the car off the road onto the desert and two beefy Sergeants had the father sprawled across the bonnet while his wife and two daughters, still in the car, watched helplessly.Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    The hummer had quickly left the main road, though, to wind its way south through several small towns that were also in disarray as the anomaly approached. Then they turned west to the mobile command post that had been set up on Interstate 10, at the edge of the affected area.


    They''d gathered quite a crowd of experts, he saw. About a dozen men and woman, all with the academic look that told him they were scientists, each presumably near the top of the field in their respective specialities. Two of them were people he recognised. Vincent Duffy and Cheryl Robinson, both world class physicists like him. Jeffcott had actually worked with Duffy a few years before when they had both been at Cern. He was brilliant, Jeffcott thought, but had some eccentric ideas that had kept his career from advancing as much as it might. That was probably why he was here, he though. If the mystery of the anomaly was to be solved, it would be by someone like him.


    His eyes were drawn irresistibly to Robinson, though, who was pulling a baseball cap lower over her eyes to shade them from the glaring sun. She looked even better in real life than the photographs she customarily placed at the end of her published papers. He''d never actually met her before. They had both been at the 2018 Hamburg plasma conference, but somehow they''d never been in the same room at the same time despite him having actively tried to hunt her down. As it was, they had only ever communicated by email until now, but now that they were standing in the desert, just a few feet away from each other, his imagination conjured up some interesting possibilities that allowed him to forget about the anomaly for a few minutes.


    The people in charge let them stand and stare at the phenomenon for a few moments as the line of soldiers settled into their new positions. The other visitors were just as disturbed and awestruck as he was, Jeffcott wasn''t surprised to see. Some of them were going pale and were staring as if it was a huge monster that might attack them at any moment. One man was edging towards a trailer piled high with packing crates as if he wanted to hide behind it. He saw Jeffcott looking at him and smiled with embarrassment but Jeffcott didn''t blame him. He felt a strong desire to join him there. He was as freaked out as if the anomaly had fixed a pair of narrow, hungry eyes on him and was poising itself to strike.


    The soldiers seemed to understand because they began to urge them away from the strange new phenomenon, as if offering them a face-saving excuse to get out of its sight. Jeffcott saw gratitude on the faces of the other guests, a gratitude he shared, as the soldiers showed them the way to the conference room. It had been set up in a portacabin that was still sitting on the back of a lorry by the side of the interstate where a fair sized crowd of vehicles was gathered. More portacabins on the backs of trucks had been outfitted as hospitals, laboratories and offices, and among them were police cars, army trucks and vans with big satellite dishes on top belonging to various international news agencies. Every vehicle had its engine running so they could retreat back along the wide interstate as the anomaly advanced relentlessly towards them. People were walking back and forth between them, or just standing and staring as if hypnotised by the wall of weirdness that the eye somehow couldn''t quite focus on.


    As they filed towards the portacabin, Jeffcott saw where crowds of reporters and spectators were being held back by anxious looking police officers and a length of ''Police Line - Do Not Cross'' ribbon that had been strung between road cones. The reporters, many of them from foreign news agencies, were shouting questions at them as a Captain showed them in, but Jeffcott had no answers for them. He knew no more than they did.


    Inside, a long table had been placed in the centre of the room. A computer and a printer stood on it, along with untidy, overlapping sheets of printed paper bearing graphs and tables of numbers. On the back wall was a large map of the local area on which concentric circles had been drawn showing how the anomaly had grown. As the guests looked for their name tags on the table and took their assigned seats a man in a creased suit was drawing a new circle that almost reached the edge of the map. They were going to need a larger one before the end of the day.


    There was a fridge just inside the door and a woman in military uniform smiled as she offered them bottles of cold water and fruit juice from it. Jeffcott took one gratefully, being both hot and thirsty, and drank most of out in one long swallow. Until you''d actually experienced the Arizona heat, he reflected, it was impossible to understand how it sapped the strength, especially for someone who''d only ever experienced the mild summers of England and New York, which had been his home since taking a teaching post at Columbia University five years before.


    Jeffcott''s place was between a man whose name tag identified him as Mark Summers and a woman called Lucy Dennings, whose name he recognised but couldn''t quite place. Before he could ask her, though, a couple of military men followed them in through the door and everyone stared at them as they waited to hear what they were going to say.

 chapter two - The Briefing

    The first soldier was a Captain, if Jeffcott recognised his rank insignia right, while the other was a Sergeant with a neatly trimmed pencil moustache. He closed the door, and then the Captain went to the head of the table where the experts all looked up at him expectantly.


    "Thank you all for coming at such short notice," he said. He was still standing behind his chair. It made Jeffcott feel a little self conscious about being sat down, but the other experts remained seated so he did as well.


    "As if we had any choice," said Lucy Dennings acidly. "I was practically kidnapped. I had to leave my daughter with my sister. She had to leave work early to come get her."


    "If you''ve been paying attention to the news recently then you understand the urgency of the situation," the Captain replied impassively. "The anomaly represents a threat to our way of life unlike anything we''ve ever faced before and so I apologise for the haste with which you were brought here. The circumstances dictated the necessity."


    Dennings just stared back at him, but Jeffcott thought the accusing glare in her eyes eased just a little, as if she recognised the truth of his words. The Captain met her gaze for a couple of moments longer before turning back to the table at large.


    "I think it would be best if we all introduced ourselves to each other first," he said. "My name is Captain Philip Mase of the US Defence Intelligence Agency and this is Sergeant Boyd-Rochfort. Somewhere out there is a General who''s in charge of this whole operation but my job is to look after you. Make sure you have what you need while you figure out what''s going on out there."


    He paused for a moment to let them digest his words before turning to an Indian-looking man in the chair closest to him. "So how about you tell the others who you are and then the others will do the same one by one."


    The Indian-looking man nodded and stood while he introduced himself. His name was Rahul Bhatt, it turned out, and he was a mathematician. Jeffcott nodded to himself as he remembered where he''d heard the name before. His speciality was in knot theory, the mathematics of which were similar to the ones he himself used in his own work. That made sense, considering the likely reason he was here.


    The next two people made him frown with puzzlement as they introduced themselves, though. Lucy Dennings was a psychologist, it turned out.. The world''s foremost authority on cognitive analysis and the study of non-human sapience. What the hell was she doing there? If that was strange, though, the women sitting next to her was even more so. Sarah Bright. A linguist. He felt his eyebrows rising all by themselves. Was it possible that the powers that be thought that aliens were somehow responsible and wanted to have a go at talking to them? The very idea almost made him laugh aloud. The one thing that all the news reports agreed on was that the anomaly covered a circular area centered precisely on Kensington Labs, the big research institute in the middle of Maricopa. Clearly there''d been a lab accident of some kind. An experiment had gone wrong. It wasn''t necessary to blame aliens, just human stupidity and carelessness.


    The last two though, Mark Summers and Dennis Gruber, made him a lot happier as they were both doctors, even though Gruber''s research on embryonic development was a little surprising. Why would they need someone with that kind of expertise? What the hell was going on here?


    "So what do we know about, about that. Out there," said Duffy when the last of the eight scientists had finished talking. He waved a vague hand towards the anomaly, thankfully out-of sight behind the portacabin wall that lacked windows.


    The Captain nodded and took a step back away from the table as if he was about to start pacing back and forth. "I''m sure you''ve all been following the news reports given by our friends in the media out there, so you''ll be aware that the anomaly is growing and showing no sign of slowing down. Any living thing it swallows becomes sick and dies. If we, or rather you, can''t find a way to stop it, it will reach Phoenix in less than a day and engulf it completely in less than a week. A city of nearly two million people. And we have to assume that it won''t stop there. We have to make our plans based on the worst case scenario, which is that it will continue to grow until it engulfs pretty much the whole continent and, in less then ten years, the entire planet."


    The faces around the table turned pale as his words sank in. "But why do you want a psychologist?" Dennings asked, a little mollified but genuinely curious. "You want me to psycho-analyse the anomaly?"


    "People have been affected by it," said the Captain. "We want you to analyse them, but we''ll get to that in good time. I thought we''d start by giving you a summary of everything we''ve learned about it so far."Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    "By your army scientists," said Mark Summers scornfully. "We should have been brought in right from the start. We''ve lost a week while a bunch of overhyped television repair men fumbled around with something fifty IQ points and several doctorates beyond them."


    "We''ll you''re here now," said the Captain with a warning gleam in his eye. "And I would like to remind you that the President has declared martial law in the entire state of Arizona. You all know what that means."


    The scientists glanced nervously at each other. Martial law meant that if anyone did anything the military didn''t like they could just disappear, and not even their nearest and dearest would ever know what had happened to them. Fear settled around the table, therefore, and the Captain nodded with satisfaction as they all settled down and began paying attention.


    "The anomaly appeared at three fifteen PM on Tuesday the sixth of August," he said. "Seven days ago. It is believed to have been caused by the scientists of Kensington Labs, which is located right at the center of the affected area, but no attempt to contact them has been successful. Radios and telephones don''t work inside the anomaly, and those people who''ve ventured inside in an attempt to reach the Labs were forced to turn back after being taken ill. It does something to living creatures, it seems. Brief exposure, no more than a couple of minutes, causes a mild illness that lasts for a few hours before the victim makes a full recovery. That''s at the very edge of the anomaly, though, where the effects may be weaker. It''s possible that, further in, the more extreme symptoms associated with longer exposure appear faster. These symptoms include disfiguring tumorous growths, eventually leading to death."


    "People have died?" said Dennings in shock.


    "We assume that the entire population of Maricopa is dead," the Captain replied. "The entire town was engulfed before anyone knew how dangerous the anomaly was. We''ve managed to minimise the number of humans that have died since, though. Every town is evacuated as it approaches them. What we know of the anomaly''s effects comes from sending in animals and plants and from those people who wandered in of their own accord before we were able to get the cordon in place. They left hurriedly when they became ill and they are the patients the doctors among you will be examining. Full medical reports on the affected individuals are available for doctors Summers and Gruber to look at."


    "Sounds like some kind of radiation," suggested Rahul Bhatt the mathematician. "Send a drone in with a geiger counter. It can take some photos as well as it flies over Maricopa. It might tell us something."


    "Drones stop working and crash the moment they enter the anomaly," the Captain replied. "Electricity doesn''t flow. No electrical devices work. My science people tell me it''s as if the laws of physics are different inside it. Fires don''t burn and explosives won''t detonate, which means that the only weapons that can be used in there are sharp blades and blunt force instruments. Knives and clubs, in other words."


    "Some kind of clockwork device, then," the mathematician suggested. "Something to open and close the shutter of an old style camera with photographic film. We can get some pictures, and if the film comes back fogged we''ll know there''s radiation. I''m sure we can figure out some way to get it in there, even of it''s just dangling under a helium balloon."


    "We''ve tried that as well," the Captain replied. "The trouble is getting the camera back out so we can develop the film. So far we''ve had no luck. Volunteers have gone a short distance inside with various measuring devices, though, and there doesn''t seem to be any radiation."


    "What about Kensington personnel who weren''t in Maricopa at the time?" asked Duffy. "They must know something."


    "We''ve had them brought here," the Captain replied, "but they haven''t been able to tell us much. Just assistants and secretaries for the most part. All the most important scientists were in the labs when the incident happened. They''d been about to make a breakthrough, it seems, and all the top people wanted to be there to witness it. All those people were now presumed dead."


    "What were they working on?" asked Sarah Bright, the linguist.


    "No bloody idea," the Captain admitted. "They tried to explain it. Something to do with creating free energy or something. The physicists among you might have a better chance of understanding it. There are full transcripts of our interviews with the surviving assistants for you to look at, and you can talk to the people themselves when you''re ready."


    The anomaly had been almost a mile across right from the start, the Captain then went on to say. It had remained that size for about twelve hours, and then it had started to grow, its perimeter expanding outwards at a rate of one hundred and fifty yards every hour or so. A rate that had remained constant ever since.


    He paused while he took a deep breath. "I said just now that no electrical devices work inside the anomaly," he said. "That''s not entirely true. They don''t do what they''re designed to do. Radios don''t transmit, cameras don''t take pictures, but they do something else. The magnetic fields generated by permanent magnets seem to have a kind of shielding effect, protecting the animals inside it from the effects of the anomaly. We''re hoping it has the same protective effect on humans as it does on rats and rabbits."


    "You''re sending people in there?" said Jeffcott in astonishment.


    "We have no choice," the Captain replied. "We''re hoping the answers we need will be found at Kensington Labs. Maybe the same equipment that created the anomaly can be used to stop it."


    The experts glanced at each other as the meaning of his words sank in. "Which means you need people with the right kind of technical knowledge," said Jeffcott. "You''re sending us in there."


    "Yes," said the Captain, looking him right in the eye. "We are."

 Chapter Three - Knot Theory

    The Captain didn''t give them time to react to his statement but nodded to the Sergeant to pass around bulging folders full of photos and reports. "Don''t take too long studying this," he said. "Time, as you know, is rather pressing. You can have the rest of the day. Then we''ll have to move on. We''d like that nightmare out there stopped before it reaches Phoenix, if possible. Every hour you waste is another hundred and fifty metres of land lost."


    "Time taken now might save time later," said Cheryl Robinson, tucking a strand of hair behind an ear with a slender hand. "There might be a vital clue in here that we don''t want to overlook."


    Jeffcott nodded, feeling an unconscious desire to agree with her in an attempt to win her approval. Robinson was a big name in their field. They''d corresponded frequently on professional matters, each of them trying to bring the other around to their own way of thinking on the ultimate nature of the universe, but this was the first time they''d met in person and he was impressed by her good looks. There were a few grey strands in her chestnut hair, he saw, but virtually no other sign of age. Nothing to suggest that she was in her forties, near enough the same age as him. Then he saw a wedding ring on her finger, though, and his heart sank. There''d been nothing in any of her published papers to suggest that she was married, but then, why would there be? Jeffcott smiled at his foolishness. After two divorces, he thought, I should have had enough of women for one lifetime.


    "And the bigger the anomaly is, the harder it might be to destroy it," added the Captain. "Even now it might be too late. So read fast." He and the Sergeant then left before any of the experts could ask any more questions. The sound of running motor engines rose briefly as they opened the door, marched through and closed it behind them.


    They all glanced at each other, trying to read in each other''s faces how scared they thought they should be, but for the most part all they saw was puzzlement and bewilderment. "They don''t really expect us to go in there, do they?" said Lucy Dennings with the tremble of fear in her voice.


    "He was talking to me when he said that," Jeffcott told her. "I''m guessing he meant us physicists. Those who''ll have a chance at figuring out the machine they built in there and putting it into reverse, or something. The rest of you''ll be staying here, I reckon."


    He was both amused and disheartened by the looks of relief on the faces of the linguist, the psychologist and the doctors. To their credit, though, they looked shameful and embarrassed as well and opened their folders, paying great attention to their contents to avoid having to look at the three physicists. With nothing else to do, therefore, Jeffcott opened his own folder and began sorting through the thick wads of papers they contained.


    The first things to take his attention were the photographs. Men, women and children. All nude, most of them lying on hospital beds because they were very obviously too ill to stand. They all had cancerous growth to a greater or lesser extent, from a slight scattering of rounded nodules on a fifty year old woman to a fourteen year old boy who looked like the elephant man. Just looking at him made Jeffcott feel ill and he placed the photo face down on the wood-patterned plastic before leafing through the others.


    Each of the people in the photographs had pages of medical notes on them. He saw the doctors reading them avidly but it meidea.mittle to him. The only thing that caught his eye was a note that the cancerous growths had appeared some hours or days after the patients had entered the anomaly, growing much faster than even the most aggressive normal tumour. The first symptoms, some anonymous doctor had said, had been a slight glassiness to the skin. A smoothness and a slight transparency as if the patient''s skin was made of paper that had been soaked in oil. That was of only mild interest to Jeffcott, and so he turned to the bottom of the stack of papers where he found the transcripts of the interviews with the surviving Kensington personnel.


    There were no actual scientists among them, it turned out. Just accountants, secretaries, interns doing side projects for their doctorates and engineers who''d had a hand in the actual construction of the machine. Jeffcott thought it likely that he, who''d been following the progress of the Kensington team in their published papers, knew more about what had been going on there than any of them. Rahul Bhatt, the mathematician, evidently thought the same thing because he leaned over towards him to ask a question. "What were they actually doing?" he said. "What was this machine of theirs supposed to do?"


    "They thought they''d figured out a way to convert matter to energy," Jeffcott replied. He started with a whisper, but let his voice rise when everyone looked up from their reading to listen. "They thought they''d found a way to untie matter."


    "Untie?" said Sarah Bright the linguist.


    "You''ve heard of string theory?" said Vincent Duffy. Heads shook around the table. "Duffy glanced across at Jeffcott for permission to continue the explanation and Jeffcott nodded back. Duffy was much more of a natural communicator than he was, able to express complex scientific ideas in a way that laymen could understand. Jeffcott, in contrast, would probably get bogged down trying to explain every arcane concept and leave the others more confused than they were already.


    "Well," said Duffy, "for a long time it was thought that the smallest components of matter, quarks, elections and so forth, were dimensionless points. Then a bunch of guys realised that a lot of theoretical problems could be solved if you thought of them as one dimensional strings instead of points. What particle they correspond to depends on how they''re vibrating."


    "So untying..." ventured Bright hesitantly. "These strings have knots tied in them?"


    "Exactly," Duffy said. "Just recently, a small group of physicicts, including the three of us..." He waved a hand to include Robinson. "...realised that even more problems could be solved if each type of particle corresponded to a type of knot tied in the string, rather than the string vibrating. A string that doesn''t have a knot in it is just energy, though. Like heat. So by untying these strings you can turn any kind of matter into pure energy."If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    "And that''s pretty much all we agree on," said Jeffcott with a rueful smile. "Knot theory is a very young discipline. There are thousands of different ways it could be formulated and there''s no way of telling which one best describes reality."


    "If any of them do," Robinson added. Jeffcott nodded his reluctant agreement.


    "You know, there''s an entire branch of mathematics dedicated to knots," said Rahul Bhatt. "It happens to be my speciality, in fact."


    Duffy''s eyes widened in realisation. "You''re that Rahul Bhatt," he said in delight. "I read your paper. Lattice models in high dimensional topology. Brilliant." The mathematician nodded his head modestly.


    "That''s why you''re here then," said Bright.


    "Possibly," said the mathematician. "Mathematical knots are different, though. They don''t have ends. They''re just loops."


    "And so are ours," said Duffy


    "Really? I''m afraid I haven''t been following the physical applications of knot theory. I''m only in it for the pure mathematics."


    "But you said they can be untied," said the linguist. "A knot can only be untied if it has loose ends, surely."


    "We use the word ''knot'' to refer to a rather arcane concept," Robinson explained. "They''re not literally knots, any more than a particle with spin literally spins. Mathematical knot theory definitely applies to them, though. All three of us have studied the basic elements of mathematical knot theory." Duffy and Jeffcott nodded their confirmation. "With your greater knowledge of the subject, though, I don''t doubt that you''ll be of great help to us in getting to the bottom of whatever''s happening in there." She indicated the map on the wall indicating the extent of the anomaly.


    Rahul Bhatt suddenly looked worried. "Does that mean they''ll be expecting me to go in there with you?" He looked back down at the photographs of the cancerous victims.


    "Well, they can''t force us to do it," said Duffy, looking around at the rest of them, searching their faces for conformation. "Can they?"


    "They''ve declared martial law," pointed out Jeffcott.


    "But I''m a Canadian citizen. They can''t force me to risk my life. They can''t even force an American civilian to risk his life."


    "I think, when martial law is in effect, the military can do whatever they damn well like," said Jeffcott with an unhappy frown. "They can draft us into the army and then give us orders just like any other enlisted man."


    "But I''m not an American citizen! They can''t draft a foreigner into their army. I can just say no. I can just leave. Go back to Canada. So long as I haven''t broken a law, they can''t stop me."


    "There''s probably a reason why there are no lawyers among us," said Lucy Dennings, the psychologist. "But even if they don''t have the legal right, they do have guns."


    "Plus," Robinson added, "running away from the anomaly won''t save you. If we can''t stop it then eventually it will come to you, no matter where in the world you are."


    "It won''t get that far," said the Canadian, although he didn''t look confident. Jeffcott thought It looked as if he were trying to convince himself more than anyone else. "The anomaly''s growth will slow and stop, and I wouldn''t be surprised if it dissipates of its own accord soon after. Without maintenance, the institute''s generator will run out of fuel and, without power, the machine will shut down. I''m surprised it hasn''t happened already."


    "Where does Maricopa get its power?" asked Jeffcott. "Does the town have its own generator? If so, what kind of generator?"


    "The army will have already asked these questions," said Dennis Gruber. "If it gets power from outside they''ll have cut it off. I would imagine that any generator the building has is rather small, designed to keep the power on just long enough for them to save data to hard drives and keep the lights on until the power company can fix the problem. They won''t be like a hospital, that has to keep life support equipment running." He looked around at the others questioningly. "Right?"


    Jeffcott tried to remember what he knew about Kensington Labs. He''d been there a couple of times to attend lectures given by their tenured members, most particularly by Ernst Jorgensen Bergman, the genius who''d conceived knot theory twenty years before. He''d been given a tour of the place by a pretty assistant and he tried to remember if the subject of a backup generator had ever come up. Then he decided it didn''t matter. Gruber was right. The army would already have covered the subject, and they were clearly expecting the anomaly to keep growing, without limit. They must have already cut the power, therefore, and were satisfied that no backup generator was keeping the machine running. And besides, thought Jeffcott, suddenly remembering. The Captain had said that no electrical devices worked inside the anomaly, which presumably included generators. That must mean that the anomaly had become self perpetuating. It wouldn''t stop on its own. It would have to be stopped.


    He watched as the same realisation came to each of the others. They were all brilliant. All leaders in their fields. They didn''t need to have it spelled out to them. Duffy nodded reluctantly to himself. "Okay," he said. "I guess we''re going in, then."


    He looked scared, and Robinson reached over to put a hand on his arm, making Jeffcott feel a spike of jealousy. He decided to try to impress her by being gallant and chivalrous. "There''s no need for all three of us to go in," he said. "If anything happens to the two of us they''ll need someone with a grounding in knot theory out here to advise them. I would vote for you to be that person."


    Dennings and Bright both looked away, smiling with amusement, and Jeffcott wilted with embarrassment as he realised how transparent he''d been. Dammit, he thought, why am I acting like a teenager? She wasn''t that good looking, and she was married!


    Robinson rewarded him with a smile of gratitude, though. "I will be going in with you," she said. "All my knowledge won''t do any good out here, and a third brain might make the difference trying to figure out what they''ve done in there."


    "And if the three of you are willing to go in, then I must as well," said Rahul Bhatt with a brave smile..


    "And a doctor," said Mark Summers. "In case these magnetic shields they''ve made for us don''t work as advertised. Just one," he added before Dennis Gruber could speak out. "You''ll need to stay here to keep working on the victims they''ve already got. You''ll have access to scanners and equipment we can''t take in with us."


    "One of us will," Gruber replied with a smile. "Arm wrestle you for it." Jeffcott wondered if they''d be quite so conspicuously gallant if there weren''t women in the room. Dammit, he thought. Do men ever stop being teenagers?


    The room lurched under them as the truck carrying the portacabin drove south another half mile, keeping what they hoped was a safe distance from the edge of the anomaly. It reminded Jeffcott of what was out there, just a couple of hundred metres away. He looked out through the nearest window, but mercifully the anomaly was hidden from sight by an army truck parked close alongside.


    "Guess we''d better read these, then," he said, looking back down at his folder.


    Heads nodded, and silence fell as they all turned out attentions back to the sheets of printer paper and the badly printed text, missing a stripe where one of the nozzles of the printer was blocked. Outside, the air continued to thrum with the sound of engines. People shouted orders to each other and a news agency helicopter was circling endlessly overhead. Jeffcott imagined it was probably carrying a pretty blonde reporter who was saying nothing into a microphone and trying to make it sound informative.

 Chapter Four - Bystanders

    When evening fell the Sergeant returned to take them to a food tent where they were given baked beans and foil wrapped shepherds pies warmed up in a microwave. Then they were taken to a row of half a dozen camper vans and told they would be spending the night there.


    "I thought we might be spending the night in a hotel," said Jeffcott as he and Duffy were shown to the van that had been assigned to them.


    "You don''t want to go to Phoenix," the Sergeant replied. "Everyone still in the city is frightened. They''ll be bothering you with questions, maybe blaming you for the whole situation. Blaming science, I mean, and you''re scientists. You''ll be safer here with the whole US army to look after you."


    Jeffcott hadn''t been thinking of Phoenix, though. There were plenty of large towns within a couple of hours drive and surely they had boarding houses. The Sergeant''s mention of Phoenix reminded him of the news reports that had been showing on his TV over the past couple of days, though. "How many people are still in the city?" he asked.


    "The bulk of the population has already left," the Sergeant replied, "but there are still enough people to cause problems."


    Jeffcott could imagine the kind of problems be was referring to. With the majority of buildings empty there would be a lot of looting and the national guard would probably have been called in to help the police deal with it. Just the day before, a news reporter had been standing in the middle of an empty street, trying to speak above the noise of car alarms and police sirens somewhere in the distance. Jeffcott had thought he''d deliberately picked an empty part of the city for dramatic effect but suddenly he wasn''t so sure.


    "Maybe you''re right," he said, looking around at all the soldiers milling around among the parked vehicles. They''d made him feel rather nervous when they''d first arrived a few hours before but now he was immensely glad they were there. The Sergeant nodded and continued walking. They followed him.


    Jeffcott and Duffy began the evening watching news reports on the small television the camper had been provided with. The streets of Phoenix looked even emptier than before and Jeffcott thought the city would probably be completely empty by the time the anomaly reached it, except for the bravest looters who would be waiting until the last minute to grab the juiciest treasures. If they weren''t careful, though, they''d leave it too late and become ensnared by the thing, or else be grabbed by the police as they tried to leave with their ill-gotten gains.


    Eventually the news moved on to other matters and it was comforting to see that life was going on as normal around most of the rest of the world, as if the situation in Arizona was some minor, local difficulty that the authorities would deal with in due course. Jeffcott found it astonishing that he''d thought the same thing just a few hours before. That was before he''d seen the anomaly with his own eyes.


    Every hour or so the camper drove further away from the advancing anomaly, driven by a pimple faced private who looked far too young to be in the army. When they tried to talk to him he grinned apologetically and said that he''d been ordered not to talk to them because they''d be too busy working. They took the hint and opened the folders they''d brought with them from the portacabin. They didn''t learn anything new, though, and ended up getting an early night, trying to get some sleep on the small, hard cots while trying to ignore the busy noises of the command post that came in through the windows that they had to leave open because of the heat. The poor private had to remain awake behind the wheel, listening to a country music station on the radio, but he was relieved by another painfully young soldier at around midnight.


    Jeffcott somehow managed to get some sleep, but woke up with an aching back and a stiff neck. A glance across at Duffy told him that he was suffering similarly. They had a quick breakfast of cereal and semi-skimmed milk from the fridge accompanied by glasses of fruit juice, and then the Sergeant was back, opening the door and coming right in. "Ah, you''re up," he said. "Are you ready to talk to the surviving Kensington personnel?"


    "Pretty much," said Duffy. "If these transcripts are any clue, though, they won''t have much to tell us."


    "Well, you never know what minor detail might mean something to you with your knowledge of the subject," said the Sergeant hopefully. "Leave that," he said as Jeffcott took his bowl over to the sink to wash it out. "We''ll send someone over to tidy up. You''re going to be too busy for such things."


    "Our own maid service," said Duffy with a smile. "Can I order a bottle of champagne sent up with the evening meal?"


    "I''ll see what I can do," said the Sergeant, so matter-of-factly that Jeffcott wondered whether he might actually do it.


    They changed into another set of clothes, wondering whether the maid service would launder and press their previous days clothes while they were away. Outside, Robinson was waiting for them, accompanied by a female soldier who said goodbye and left as the men approached. A short distance away they saw Summers and Gruber, the doctors, being led by another officer to one of the portacabins that had been outfitted as a hospital, but the Sergeant led the three physicists in a different direction, to a portacabin that was being used as ''guest quarters''. Jeffcott wasn''t surprised to see serIous looking guards on duty at both the doors.


    There were four men and two women inside, as well as three soldiers keeping a wary eye on them as if they were captured prisoners of war. The Kensington people looked scared and subdued, and Jeffcott guessed that the questioning they''d received hadn''t been gentle.


    One man, thick around the waist and with stubble around his face, stood up to confront the Sergeant. "When are you going to let us go?" he demanded. "We''ve told you everything we know. If we could help you we would, but we can''t."


    "I demand a lawyer," one of the women demanded. "I have rights."


    "Thank you for your forbearance," the Sergeant replied. "These people are scentists. Experts in the same field as the people you worked for. You''ve made it quite clear that you can''t explain to a layman such as myself what they were doing at Kensington Labs, but any small clue you can give them might be enough for them to fill in the blanks. If they can figure out what your people were doing in there it might help us a great deal."If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    "And then you''ll let us go?" asked the fat man.


    "It''s probably better if you remain in protective custody for a while," the Sergeant replied. "The whole world knows about the anomaly now, the threat it represents. The evacuation of Phoenix has already begun. There are a lot of angry, scared people out there."


    "But they can''t blame us, surely," the fat man protested. "I''m an accountant. I don''t know anything about science or knots or anything. I just looked after the accounts."


    "And I was a secretary," the woman added. "Pretty much all I did was answer telephones."


    "The people on the other end of those telephones," said Jeffcott, taking a step forward. "Were they other scientists? Did you hear anything your employer said to them?"


    The woman stared at him with naked fear, as if she feared that some Gestapo style interrogation was about to begin. The Sergeant, meanwhile, was backing away to the door. "I''ll leave you to get acquainted," he said. "Take as long as you like, learn whatever you can. We''ll bring you something to eat around noon." Then he left, closing the door behind him. The sound of his footsteps descending the steps was drowned out by the sound of a helicopter passing overhead.


    Robinson approached the secretary, smiling reassuringly. "You''re not in any trouble," she said. "It''s just very important that we understand as much as possible about what happened in there. You worked in the building. Maybe you overheard a conversation. Something that didn''t mean much to you at the time."


    While she worked on the woman and Duffy talked to the fat man Jeffcott approached a younger man who had the look of a university student. He tried to remember the names from the dossiers they''d been given the day before. "Adrian Bailey?'' he asked. "You were an intern working for Doctor Bergman, right?"


    "On paper," the young man replied. He looked to be barely in his twenties and painfully skinny. There were dark circles under his eyes as if he hadn''t slept for several days. "I only met him a couple of times. Most of the time I worked with Geoffrey Fowler. He was the one who mentored me on my thesis. Theoretical modelling of phase transitions in the early universe."


    "Sounds interesting," said Jeffcott, while thinking that hundreds of theses must have been written by hundreds of students on an almost identical subject. The Evaluation Committee that would eventually look at it would probably give it only the most cursory of glances before approving it, whereupon it would be forgotten forever. "Did you use data from Bergman''s research?"


    "Not really," said the intern, his eyes widening with fear as if he expected to be tortured unless he said something useful. "They had lots of ongoing projects. Bergman''s knotpicker was just one of them."


    "Knotpicker?" Jeffcott asked. He could feel his eyes widening.


    "Sorry," said the kid, wilting nervously. "I meant the piecewise linear n-sphere magnetic unknotting furnace. Or just The Furnace. That''s what they called it, anyway."


    Jeffcott leaned forward in excitement. Now they were getting somewhere. Seeing his interest the young intern perked up, suddenly hopeful. Maybe he wasn''t going to be shot or sent to prison after all.


    "Tell me about the furnace," said Jeffcott.


    "I only saw it a couple of times. I never got to work with it. I was on a different project, for Professor Fowler..."


    "Yes, yes," Jeffcott interrupted impatiently. "Tell me what you can about it."


    "It was just a big, circular thing in the basement. Fowler said it used the same basic technology as a fusion reactor. Magnets to keep hot plasma confined. Very hot, but the magnets created additional magnetic fields on top of the transient poloidal fields a fusion reactor uses..."


    Jeffcott listened intently as the intern went into great technical detail about the device, but his interest waned quickly as it became clear that he wasn''t able to add anything to his earlier interviews with the military. He was desperately trying to help by telling absolutely everything he knew, driven by fear of being accused of hindering the investigation, but the fact was that he''d only seen the device a couple of times and knew about it mainly from overheard conversations in the canteen. The young chap had been focused with an almost lasar-like intensity on his own work, afraid that he wouldn''t be able to complete his thesis.


    Another intern would have been fascinated by the work being done by Bergman, Jeffcott thought. He would have dedicated himself to following every theory, every detail of the machine they were building, but the strange workings of fate meant that the only surviving member of the Kensington team with any kind of scientific knowledge suffered from a crippling inadequacy complex that had kept him from diverting his attention from his own work. On the other hand, though, mused Jeffcott, if he''d been more interested in Bergman''s machine he would probably have been there when they turned it on and he would be just as dead as the others.


    The disappointment must have showed on his face because the intern shrank back in his chair again, aware that he was failing him. There was such fear in his wide, puppy dog eyes that Jeffcott found himself reassuring him and thanking him for what little he had been able to say. Then he stood and went to where Duffy and Robinson had already gone to share what they''d learned with each other.


    They looked up expectantly as Jeffcott joined them but he could only shake his head. "Nothing," he said. "You?"


    "They might as well be random strangers they scooped up from the street," said Duffy. "That''s an hour of my life I''ll never get back."


    "The secretary did say one thing that was interesting," said Robinson, twirling a lock of greying hair around her finger thoughtfully. "She said it wasn''t the first time they turned it on. They turned it on a couple of days before, for about an hour. Then they turned it off again."


    "And nothing happened?" asked Duffy.


    "She was upstairs when it happened," Robinson replied. "She overheard a couple of assistants talking about it. All she heard was that the test went very well, though. Better than expected, from the excitement in their voices. One of the assistants said he hoped it worked just as well when they turned it on again on Tuesday. At three PM."


    "When the anomaly appeared," said Jeffcott, staring at her. She nodded. "So why didn''t the anomaly appear the first time?" Robinson could only shake her head, though, while staring glumly at the floor.


    "Well, we''ve barely started," said Jeffcott, trying to inject a note of optimism. "We''ve still got the other three to talk to. I think each of us should talk to all six of them. There''s no telling what they might reveal if we keep repeating the same questions over and over again, and one of us might think of a question the others didn''t."


    "What''s the point?" said Robinson, though. "They don''t know anything. We know more than they do about what they were doing in there."


    "You''re probably right," said Jeffcott, "but we can''t overlook the possibility that there''s something important to be learned from them. Who knows what tiny bit of information might make the difference. Something they''ll only think to mention when they''ve been quizzed about the same thing a dozen times over."


    Robinson sighed. "Fine," she said. "Why not? It''s not as if they''re going to be letting us out of here any time soon."


    She nodded her head towards the soldier standing beside the door. For a moment Jeffcott didn''t know what she meant, but then he noticed that the soldier was watching the three experts just as intently as the six Kensington personnel. She was right, he realised with a nervous shock. The three of them were just as much prisoners as the other occupants of the room.


    He glanced across at Duffy and saw him staring back with an ''I told you so'' expression on his face. Then he shrugged helplessly, though, and turned to talk to the man their briefing notes had told them was a caretaker. Robinson chose the computer engineer and Jeffcott was left with the other accountant.

 Chapter Five - Victims

    The Sergeant returned at noon with some lunch, as promised, and the three physicists reported their total lack of success in learning anything new.


    "Well, it was worth a try," the Sergeant replied. "We''ll hold onto them a little longer, in case they do remember something. Tell the truth, we didn''t really expect to get much out of them but we had to try."


    "Have the others had any more luck?" asked Vencent.


    "They''re still examining the victims," the Sergeant replied. "I was just about to go ask them."


    "Mind if we tag along?" asked Robinson.


    "I don''t see why not. They''re in the hospital over there."


    The first thing they noticed as they entered the modified portacabin was the smell, like rotten apples. A sickly sweet miasma that hit them in the face like the heat from an oven. Jeffcott actually staggered back, bumping into Robinson who stared at him accusingly until the smell hit her as well, making her wrinkle her nose in distaste. "God!" She exclaimed. "What''s that?"


    "Not decaying fruit," Jeffcott answered, feeling sick. "Decaying people. Still want to go in?"


    "The others wore these," said one of the soldiers on guard, pointing to a box of face masks on a table beside the door. There was a bottle of pot pourri oil next to it. "Put a few drops of oil on the mask," said the soldier. "Then breathe through it. They say it helps."


    They did so. The smell of the oil was thick and cloying, but in a different way and it seemed to cancel out the reek of the dying people inside. With the smell now manageable, they went in.


    Every window was open to its widest extent in an attempt to let in some fresh air, to no avail. Everyone inside was wearing masks, from the soldiers standing guard to the nurses attending the patients. Even the patients themselves were wearing masks, although the smell seemed to be exuding from their skins rather than exhaled breath. They were all nude, so that every detail of what the anomaly had done to their bodies was clearly exposed to the horrified eyes of the visitors.


    "They couldn''t give them the dignity of a blanket?" said Duffy in outrage.


    "They''re prone to internal bleeding," said a nurse, overhearing. "A major artery can rupture just like that, without any warning. If we don''t see the bruising in time to open them up and tie it off, they''re dead. Trust me, though. Modesty is the last thing on their minds at the moment.".


    The nearest patient was a young asian-looking man, probably in his thirties. Once handsome by the look of him with a toned, muscular body, but now that body was swollen and distorted by black, cankerous growths as if lumps of coal had been inserted under his skin. Some of them moved and pulsated in rhythm to his heartbeat, which was displayed on a monitor at the head of his bed along with all his other vital statistics. He was awake and staring up at the three new visitors in horror, fully aware of what was happening to him and terrified by it. There were restraints around his wrists and ankles as if he''d tried to escape some time in the past, but now he was just lying there as if resigned to his fate.


    Seeing him made Jeffcott''s body quiver with a kind of primal fear, as if what he had was contagious and he might catch it just by breathing the same air as him. His eyes were reluctant to look at him. They kept sliding off his body as if they had a mind of their own and wanted to get away. At the next bed a nurse was taking the blood pressure of a twenty something black woman. For a moment the nurse''s eyes met his and Jeffcott had a brief glimpse of the same fear that he was feeling. The same... Revulsion. Yes, that was the right word. No matter how sympathetic and civilised they wanted to be, no matter how much they wanted to be enlightened and compassionate, they were revolted by these poor people. The nurse wanted nothing more than to get out of there and leave someone else to look after them. It didn''t matter who. Anyone.


    The realisation sickened him. That wasn''t the kind of person he wanted to be. He got a grip on himself, therefore, and made himself approach the black woman. He made myself look into her eyes, and she looked back at him with a look of such horror, such suffering, that he almost lost control of himself and ran. Instead, he made himself reach out and take her hand where it was strapped to the side of her bed. For a moment the nurse reached out to try to stop him. He wasn''t wearing surgical gloves. Then she backed away, though. What these people had wasn''t contagious. Jeffcott had no more chance of catching something than if it were the hand of any healthy person. Apparently they weren''t worried about him giving her something. No bug he might be carrying could possibly make her condition worse.


    The moment their hands touched her fingers clamped painfully tight around his. Her hand was hot and damp with perspiration, but there was something else. For a moment Jeffcott thought he could feel something moving under her skin, as if there were worms squirming around between the bones and tendons of her fingers. He jerked his hand back in shock, but her grip was so tight that he wasn''t able to break contact and a moment later he was glad for that when he saw the look of infinite gratitude in her eyes. It made him relax his hand and squeeze her fingers back. The feeling of movement intensified but so did her look of gratitude and a tear rolled down her lumpy, distorted cheek.


    "What''s your name?" Jeffcott asked her.


    She tried to reply, but it cost her a great effort to form words and so the nurse answered for her. "Teresa," she said, staring at him with wonder as if he''d put his hand into an open flame. "Teresa Kelly."


    Jeffcott looked down at the black woman. "Hang in there Teresa," he said. "You''re in good hands. You''re going to be all right."


    Her fingers tightened harder around his. Her mouth worked as she again struggled to speak. He waited patiently for her to form the words. "No," she said at last. "I''m not."


    He looked at the nurse and saw confirmation in her eyes. There was no hope for this woman. None at all. Not for any of them. The doctors were only keeping them alive as long as possible so they could learn something about what was happening to them, but sooner or later they would lose the fight. Teresa knew that. She could feel it in her own body and Jeffcott could feel it as well. Holding her hand was like holding the hand of a corpse, complete with maggots squirming through the dead meat.


    Teresa''s strength was almost gone, though, and the effort of gripping his hand drained what was left of it. Jeffcott felt her fingers loosen and pulled his hand free, resisting an urge to wipe it on his trousers. The nurse was staring at him as if he were a superhero. Jeffcott moved away, suddenly feeling self conscious.


    He went to where Duffy and Cathy were talking to Summers and Gruber. "What''s happening to them?" he asked.


    "They''ve got no idea," said Mark Summers. "There''s no infection, no radiation damage. No cancer. Somehow, some of the cells of their bodies have reverted to an embryonic state."


    "Embryonic stem cells," Dennis Gruber added, his eyes shining with a fascination that he was trying to hide out of respect for the patients. "Thousands of them in each patient. All busy doing what embryonic stem cells do. Create embryos."


    They stared at each other in shock. "You mean, with arms and legs and eyes?" asked Jeffcott.


    "More like random lumps, each containing several types of tissue," the doctor replied. "Fat, bone, glandular tissue, muscle. The glandular tissue is secreting hormones more or less at random, that''s part of what''s killing them, and the muscle tissue is twitching. That''s what''s creating the sensation of movement in their bodies."This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    "And some of the embryonic stem cells are busy creating more embryonic stem cells," Mark Summers added. "You perform surgery to remove one pseudo-embryo and a dozen more spring up to take its place."


    "Their only hope seems to be chemotherapy," said Dennis Gruber. "Treat the pseudo-embryos like cancer. Use drugs that kill rapidly dividing cells. All it''s doing so far, though, is slowing the progress of the disease. Prolonging their suffering."


    "Maybe it would be kinder to just let them go," Robinson ventured hesitantly.


    "I hate to sound callous and uncaring," said Dennis Gruber, "but the longer we can keep them alive, the more we can learn. We need living patients to study, to do tests on. And the things we could learn about normal human development... You learn the most when you observe how things go wrong. The implications for teratogen research, neural tube defects for example, could be beyond imagining."


    "For those of you who don''t know," said Mark Summers, "my colleague here is the world''s foremost authority on embryonic birth defects. No doubt the reason he was brought here."


    "It''s a fascinating field," said Gruber, his eyes shining. "A simple ball of cells gradually organising itself into a human being with all its tissues and organs. Who wouldn''t be fascinated? And now, the chance to examine these people... You could learn more here in a day than in a month of normal research." He stared at the nearest patient with an almost hungry expression.


    "These are human beings, human suffering, you would be profiting from," said Robinson, looking disgusted.


    "To prevent more suffering in the future," the doctor pointed out. "One sympathises with these people, of course, but if you get too attached you lose the clinical objectivity you need to get the work done."


    "Can we continue this discussion outside?" said Duffy, who was looking green, as if he was about to throw up. "The smell..."


    He didn''t wait for a reply but hurried to the door, throwing it open and dashing down the steps to the hot tarmac of the road. Robinson and Jeffcott followed, pulling their masks off and sucking in the fresh, clean air, breathing deeply as if to remove every trace of foul corruption from their lungs.


    "God!" said Robinson, looking guilty at the speed of their exit. "Those poor people."


    "And we''re going in there," said Duffy, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief. "Where they went."


    "With protection." said Rahul Bhatt. Jeffcott turned to see that he, Sarah Bright the linguist and Lucy Dennings the psychologist were crossing from another portacabin in which they''d been studying their dossiers. "They say it''ll protect us from what happened to them," the mathematician added.


    "Are they sure of that, though?" asked Duffy. "Maybe it only slows it down. Maybe what''s happening to them will happen to us."


    "We either go in there and try to stop it," said the mathematician, "or run away and wait for it to catch up with us. Even if we''re on the other side of the world it''ll find us sooner or later if it keeps growing."


    "I''m still not convinced that it will keep growing," Duffy replied, though. "Have they measured how fast it''s growing? Maybe it''s slowing down."


    "It''s growth has remained constant for the last five days," said Captain Mase, coming to join them. "One hundred and forty eight point three seven three metres per hour. Before that it was around one hundred and thirty metres per hour. If anything, it''s speeding up."


    "So what happened five days ago?" asked Robinson, suddenly looking interested.


    The Captain could only shrug his shoulders helplessly, though. "Have you seen enough?" he asked. "We''d like you to go in as soon as possible. Every hour you wait is another hundred and fifty metres you''ll have to walk."


    Dennings and Bright exchanged a fearful glance. "You seem to be including us in that question," said Dennings.


    "We''d like all eight of you to go in," the Captain confirmed. "Along with Sergeant Boyd-Rochfort and a dozen of his men."


    "But why? What possible good would a psychologist and a linguist be in there?"


    "We''re worried there might be mental effects as well as physical ones. A psychologist will know what to look out for. If anyone starts behaving strangely you can send them back out again while being alert for possible section eights."


    "People pretending to be affected so they''ll be sent out," said Mark Summers. The Captain replied with a nod.


    "And what about a linguist?" asked Bright.


    "We just want to cover every eventuality," the Captain told her.


    "Bullshit!" spat the linguist, striding forward to glare up into his face. "What haven''t you told us?"


    The Captain looked embarrassed as if afraid he would be ridiculed. "This comes from high up," he began. "The same people who insisted that we choose people based solely on their ability, regardless of gender. I would have preferred a purely male expedition..."


    "Why a linguist?" Bright pressed.


    "Some of the first victims were in the anomaly for several hours," the Captain explained. "This was before we realised how dangerous it was. They died shortly after coming back out, but before they died..."


    "They began talking gibberish," Bright speculated. "Right?" The Captain nodded. "I''m guessing someone thought it might be a language," Bright continued. "A demonic language perhaps. Christian fundamentalism runs strong in this country. One of your superiors is a devout Christian and thinks they were possessed by demons."


    "As I said, these orders come from high up. I can only obey them."


    "Brain damage," said Bright, speaking as if explaining to a child. "They were probably suffering a form of aphasia in which they lose the ability to communicate effectively. No need to invoke religious, superstitious nonsense."


    "What if it''s not nonsense?" Duffy put in suddenly. "What if it wasn''t demonic possession but an attempt by a non-human entity to communicate?"


    Jeffcott felt a familiar sense of exasperation coming over him. "Vince," he said. "Not this again. Please."


    "What not again?" asked Mark Summers.


    "Vincenf Duffy is a brilliant physicist," said Jeffcott, wanting to be diplomatic. "A leader in his field. A true genius. No-one doubts that, but some of his ideas tend to be a little..."


    "Some of our results at CERN can best be explained if our universe is brushing closely against another," Duffy interrupted brusquely. "This isn''t fantasy or superstition but a clear, cold analysis of the facts."


    "So you think that aliens in that other universe are trying to talk to us?" said Mark Summers.


    Some of the others were trying to hide smiles. Jeffcott only felt pity for his colleague. The man was indeed a genius. He deserved better than to be mocked and ridiculed. The man had expressed a theory. A theory that could be tested by further experiments carried out in the future. If the results of those experiments supported his theory then great. If not, then the theory would be abandoned and Duffy himself would be the first to publicly denounce it. That was how science worked, not by condemning an idea right off the bat simply because it sounded silly. Personally, Jeffcott thought it would take a hell of a lot of evidence before his ideas, which even his closest aupporters admitted did sound unlikely, gained greater acceptence. Extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence, as he remembered someone saying once. He forget who.


    Bright wasn''t smiling, though. She was staring around at the others, her wide, frightened eyes fixing on one of them after another in search of someone who would come to her defence. "So I have to risk my life," she said, "to talk to aliens? Or perhaps demons? The guy had brain damage. He was talking gibberish. I''m not going to risk my life for that."


    "She''s right," said Jeffcott, taking a step forward. "She doesn''t need to come with us. The likelihood of her talents being needed in there are..." He become aware of Duffy staring at him. He ploughed on regardless. "...are vanishingly small. We''re just going in to stop the anomaly. If there are aliens in there, the next expedition can talk to them."


    Jeffcott had enough self honesty to wonder whether he was motivated to take her side by the desire to gain the gratitude of an attractive woman. He thought he was sincerely concerned for the safety of another human being, but both his ex--wives had accused him of being attracted to other women, that being part of the reason his marriages had ended. It was true that he liked looking at beautiful women, he admitted to himself. He like it the same way he liked looking at beautiful sunsets. He liked to stroke the hair of a beautiful woman, to feel the softness of it. He like to stroke rabbits as well, for the same reason. That didn''t mean he wanted to have sex with the rabbit. So yes, he told himself confidently. He supported Bright because he genuinely saw no reason for her to risk her life with the rest of them. There was no other reason.


    "My orders are that all eight of you are to go in," said the Captain, though.


    "And if we refuse?" asked Duffy. This got him the grateful look from Bright that she hadn''t given Jeffcott, who felt an irrational sense of jealousy.


    "We are under martial law, as you know," said the Captain. "Anyone who refuses to obey orders will be placed under arrest and will remain in confinement until the state of martial law is lifted. If it ever is."


    "A prison cell might be better than what happened to those poor souls in there." Bright hooked a thumb back to the portacabin outfitted as a hospital. A couple of the others were nodding, Jeffcott saw. Rahul Bhatt as well as Duffy, and he noticed that his own knees were quivering more than a little as well. Whose wouldn''t?


    The Captain didn''t look unsympathetic, but he had his orders and they could all could see that he would follow them. He seemed to have enough leadership skills to know that barking orders to civilians could be counterproductive, though. Maybe a less direct route would be more effective. "While you''re thinking it over," he said therefore, "why not come and see the equipment we''ve prepared for you? Even if you decide not to use it, you might still have some words of advice for those brave enough to go."


    He strode off towards an open area that had been left between the assembled vehicles. The two doctors followed after him, and after a moment''s hesitation the rest of them did as well.

 Chapter Six - Outfitting

    As they rounded a truck-borne portacabin outfitted as office space, the eight experts were astonished to see a large wagon with a shaft at the front to which horses would be harnessed. The surprise faded quickly, though, as they realised the sense it made. Engines wouldn''t work in the anomaly, but horses would, so long as they had the same magnetic protection as the humans. On the wagon was a large portable generator wrapped in metal mesh and a dozen four gallon cans of diesel oil.


    "I don''t know how to ride a horse," said Mark Summers doubtfully.


    "You don''t have to," said Sergeant Boyd-Rochfort, coming forward from where he''d been inspecting another wagon, this one with two long benches facing each other. "You''ll be riding in this, also pulled by horses. I and the rest of your military escort will all be on horseback. We estimate we can be in Maricopa by the end of the tomorrow if we leave at the crack of dawn."


    "If we go at all," said Duffy under his breath.


    "Your magnetic protection harnesses are over here," the Sergeant continued. He led the way to a truck whose rear doors were open. A couple of soldiers were unloading large cardboard boxes which they were dropping carelessly onto the hot tarmac. The Sergeant went over to one, tore it open and removed a harness designed to fit around the upper body. Jeffcott recognised it as the kind used by sportsmen and hikers to carry cameras on their chests so they could record their exploits. Where the camera should have been, though, was a black plastic disc about the size of a hockey puck.


    "You can adjust the straps to fit a person of any size,'' said the Sergeant as he picked one up, put it on and snapped the buckle closed around his waist. "This contains a powerful permanent magnet." He tapped the hockey puck with his finger. "I''m told the magnetic field it generates is large and powerful enough to protect you from the effects of the anomaly. You must never take it off, not even for a moment. Just a few minutes exposure to the anomaly..." He glanced over at the makeshift hospital. "Well, you''ve seen."


    "Have they been tested on humans?" asked Summers.


    "They have," the Sergeant confirmed. "Volunteers have remained inside the anomaly for over an hour while wearing these harnesses and suffered no ill affects. We are confident that they will provide complete protection."


    "You have no idea what kind of long term affects your volunteers might still suffer from," the doctor pointed out, though. "Some drugs and chemicals don''t start showing adverse side effects until decades after the patient stops taking them."


    The Sergeant looked annoyed. He was clearly used to his orders being obeyed without question and looked as though he was restraining himself from giving the doctor a tongue lashing. Instead, after taking a breath, he nodded. "I''m afraid that, with the situation so grave, we don''t have the luxury for such considerations," he said. "The anomaly already threatens a city of two million people..."


    "A city that is now virtually empty," pointed out Bright. "You want us to risk our lives for empty buildings?"


    The Sergeant glared at her as if expecting the ground to open up beneath her and swallow her up. She glared defiantly back at him, though, meeting him eye to eye. The Sergeant''s face turned red with anger but again he restrained himself. "If the anomaly continues to grow, eventually we will run out of places to run," he said. "And when we can run no further, we will wish we''d been brave enough to stop it while we could."


    "But I''m just a linguist!" the woman protested. Her courage was rapidly evaporating under the force of the Sergeant''s anger but she still made herself look him in the eye even as a tear ran down her cheek. "I can understand scientists going in, to figure this thing out, but what am I going to do?" Her voice was rising to a shriek as fear took possession of her. "Demons and aliens! Do you know how insane that sounds?"


    Dennings went across and out a hand on her arm. Bright shook it angrily off. Dennings tried again, this time grabbing her arm forcefully. "They say it''ll be safe," she said. "They say they''ve tested it."


    "They''re not the ones who''ll be going in there."


    "I will be going in there," said the Sergeant. "I was proud to volunteer."


    "We didn''t volunteer," pointed out Bright.


    "And some of us aren''t even American," Duffy reminded them. He glanced across at Jeffcott as if hoping the Englishman would support him, but Jeffcott remained silent. Instead he picked up one of the harnesses and examined it curiously.


    Duffy gave him a look of betrayal before turning back to the Sergeant. "If we''d been asked maybe it''d be different but we were dragged here against our will. I want to talk to the Canadian embassy."


    "No you don''t," said Jeffcott. "You want to go in there, just as much as I do. You just want to score points first."


    "How dare you..."


    Jeffcott shushed him to silence. "We''re physicists," he said. "We''re naturally curious people. We could have done any number of other things with our lives. Made a ton of money as lawyers, perhaps. Instead, we devoted our lives to unravelling the mysteries of the universe, a profession that doesn''t exactly pay well. These days, though, progress is slow. You need gigantic machines costing billions of pounds to make new discoveries, but now there''s this." He gestured towards the anomaly, still with its line of soldiers keeping curious members of the public at bay. "Something utterly mysterious. New physics, new answers, just waiting to be discovered. When they came for me, I almost dragged them behind me in my eagerness to get here. If they hadn''t chosen me, I would have threatened and bribed whoever I could in an attempt to get a place on this expedition. I know it''s the same for you. We''ve known each other too long, so ditch the fake outrage and clam up."


    "He speaks for me too," said Robinson. Jeffcott looked at her, their eyes met and she smiled. Jeffcott''s heart leapt with hope and he looked away hurriedly before she could see it.


    "Is that right?" the Sergeant asked Duffy.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    "It is," said Jeffcott firmly. "The next time he complains, just offer to grant his wish. Tell him he''s free to go." Duffy glared at him and Jeffcott smiled back. The glare deepened, but then Duffy looked away, looking embarrassed.


    "And what about you?" Dennings asked Bright. "Do you really want to go home, or do you want the chance to see something completely new? Experience something no-one has ever experienced before. Something to tell you grandchildren about."


    "If I live to have any," the linguist replied.


    Dennings turned to the Sergeant. "If she''s really that afraid, maybe it would be a mistake to force her to go with us," she said. "She could freak out, endanger the mission..."


    "I''m not going to freak out!" Bright replied indignantly. "If I was going to be doing something useful I''d have no problem going in. I just don''t see the point of risking my life for no reason."


    "What if you turn out to be essential to the mission?" Dennings asked. "What if this really is something supernatural?"


    "There''s no such thing as supernatural..." Jeffcott began. Dennings shot him a look and he shut up.


    "Aliens, then," she said to Bright. "What if Mister Duffy''s right and this is caused by alien technology? What if the only way to save the world is by communicating with them?"


    "You don''t actually believe that," Bright replied. "It''s a stupid man-made experiment gone wrong. Nothing more than that. I know nothing about science. I can''t even name the planets."


    "Doesn''t matter," said Dennings. "We''ve got science covered. Your job, and mine, will be to fill the gaps in their expertise. The human side of the equation. Powerful people, the most powerful people in the world, think that you are one of the eight most qualified people to help save the world. Are you going to tell them they''re wrong?"


    Bright stared at the other woman, then glanced at the Sergeant, who was waiting patiently for her to make up her mind. Bright sighed. "Fine," she said at last. "I guess I''m in, then."


    "So if that''s finally settled," said the Sergeant impatiently. "Perhaps we can get on." He reached back into the cardboard box and took out a white cloak. He beckoned to a Private, who walked across to him. The Sergeant handed him the cloak and the Private put it on. Jeffcott thought it made him look like an Arab about to climb onto a camel.


    "The cloak should help you keep cool," he said. "It reflects the sun away and allows air to circulate underneath it. How does that feel, Parkin?"


    "Fine, sir," the Private replied. "Shame this bloody anomaly didn''t appear in Idaho."


    "Indeed," the Sergeant replied humourlessly as the Private took off the harness. We have them in a variety of sizes. Pick out one that fits you."


    He gestured to another private, who handed down a box about the size of a toaster. The Sergeant opened it and removed what looked like an old style ship''s signalling lamp sitting in a wire cage. The cage would carry an electric current, Jeffcott guessed, whose magnetic field would allow it to work in the anomaly.


    The Sergeant turned back to the experts. "Radio communications don''t work in the anomaly, as you know, but we''ve figured out another way to communicate with you. This is a Polaris Ultrabright signalling torch. The brightest portable signalling light in the world capable of emitting over a million lumens of light. Do not look at it while it''s on. The cowl around the LEDs will protect your eyesight so long as you''re to the side of it, but the light will burn your skin on contact. You''ll need to hook it up to the generator to use it. Just aim it directly at the ecliptic overhead and a satellite in geostationary orbit will be able to see it, even in daytime. You will then be able to send morse code messages to us. I and my men will normally be using it. We''ll give you a brief tutorial just in case... You know."


    "Will they be able to send messages back to us?" asked Rahul Bhatt.


    "Yes," the Sergeant replied. "There is another satellite equipped with a signalling light. Not in geostationary orbit, but we''ll have a look-up table telling us where in the sky it is at any time. You won''t really need the table, though. If you see a flashing light in the sky, that''s what it''ll be."


    "Why would a satellite have a signalling light?" asked Dennis Gruber curiously. "What''s it normally used for?"


    "A laser weapon," said Jeffcott, suddenly sure of it. "Right? For destroying other satellites."


    "That''s classified," the Sergeant replied, but the look on his face confirmed it.


    "So they''ll be aiming a weapon at us?" said Duffy, chuckling nervously.


    "A weapon designed for use in space," Jeffcott replied. "The atmosphere will scatter the beam. Right? It''ll just be a bright light in the sky."


    "I can neither confirm nor deny the nature of the satellite," said the Sergeant, "but I''ve been assured that it will be harmless to us on the ground." This time they all chuckled nervously. The Sergeant ignored it. "The important thing is that we will be able to communicate with our superiors outside the anomaly so long as the magnetic cages protecting the torch and the generator remain intact. Our mission will be to reach Kensington Labs in Maricopa, assess the situation there and determine whether the machine that we assume created the anomaly can be used to terminate it. If the machine, whatever they called it..."


    "The Furnace," Jeffcott offered helpfully.


    The Sergeant acknowledged with a nod. "If we find The Furnace turned off, the generator will hopefully provide enough power to restart it, after you''ve made whatever adjustments it needs. We''re all hoping it won''t take you too long to figure it out." He looked at Jeffcott and Duffy expectantly.


    "We have some idea what they were doing from their published papers and certain correspondences we''ve had with them," Jeffcott replied. "The trouble is we researchers don''t like to publish until we''re sure of our facts. There''s no knowing what discoveries and alterations Bergman may have made since he made his last submission to Physical Review. It may take us a long time."


    "Let''s hope not," said the Sergeant flatly. "Now, we''re not expecting you to find anything alive in there, but just in case something or someone has wandered in further around the periphery, mutated and delirious, you will all be armed with spears." The Private still standing in the back of the truck handed one down to him.


    "Guns don''t work with those wire cages around them?" asked Bright.


    "No, they don''t," the Sergeant replied. "We''ve tried, even when protecting them with magnetic fields a thousand times more powerful than you''ll be using for protection."


    "The detonation of explosives must be more susceptible to the effects of the anomaly than biological processes," said Robinson thoughtfully. "Maybe because it''s a more energy intensive process."


    "No doubt," said the Sergeant. He twirled the spear around in his hand like a cheerleader''s baton, then stood it upright on its end beside him. "This is the United M48 Talon Survival Spear. Eight inch blade, forty four inches overall length. Fibreglass reinforced nylon handle. Seven ounces weight. Easy to use, even for a civilian." He was looking at Bright when he said it, and they all mentally filled in what he''d really wanted to say. Easy to use even for a woman.


    He twirled the weapon again to show how light and manoeuverable it was. "Used for stabbing your enemy," he said. "Not, I repeat not, for throwing. The thickening in the shaft just behind the blade will keep an enemy you''ve just stuck with it from sliding down the shaft towards you, thereby enabling you to hold him at arms length until an ally arrives to help you finish him off. You don''t want to leave it stuck in your enemy if you can help it, though. The correct way to use it is to jab with it, the tip going no deeper than two or three inches into the enemy''s body, aiming for major arteries. Then you pull it out and jab again, as many times as needed."


    "Like a demented sewing machine," said Duffy with a nervous grin.


    "Indeed," said the Sergeant, looking annoyed by the frivolous comparison. He glanced to the side, where more soldiers were hanging sacks of straw from wooden stands, then smiled wickedly and fixed Duffy with his eyes. "So. Who wants to be the first to try it out?"

 Chapter Seven - Insertion

    They spent a couple of hours having fun stabbing the sacks of hay with their spears, getting the feel of the weapons, and then they tried on the magnetic harnesses.


    The magnets were powerful, they found. They were iron nitride magnets, the strongest permanent magnets known to man. If two of them got stuck together it would take a man''s full strength to pull them apart again. It would have taken even more force if not for the five millimetre thick plastic coating that protected them from damage. Fortunately, they all had their north magnetic poles facing forward so that their magnetism pushed apart two people who came too close together. It made it physically impossible for two people wearing them to hug each other, as Jeffcott and Robinson confirmed by playful experimentation.


    Then they tried on the white robes. "I don''t like it," said Bright, fingering the loose folds hanging down her body. "Feels like it''d slow me down if I had to run fast."


    "If they''re right, there''s nothing alive in there you''ll have to run from," said Jeffcott.


    "If they''re right. What if they''re wrong? I think I''ll keep my arms and legs free. Besides, it''s not like I need protection from the sun." She held up her arm to show off her glossy, dark brown skin.


    "Black people can sunburn just like us white folks," pointed out Jeffcott.


    "I''ve never been sunburned in my life," the linguist replied, "and I''ve been outside all day in brighter sun than this. And the sixty thousand people who lived in Maricopa got by just fine in ordinary clothes." She rolled up her robes and tossed them back into the wagon.


    "Well I''ll be wearing them," said Summers, "and I''m even blacker than you are."


    "And you don''t have to warn an Indian about the dangers of the sun," said Rahul Bhatt, looking down at the clean, white lines of his robes approvingly. "You should take them with you so you can put them on if you change your mind."


    "Whatever," Bright replied, although she made no move to reclaim her robes. Instead she looked down at the magnet she was wearing on her chest, covering some of the buttons of her short sleeved shirt. Jeffcott could see her imagining the horrors it would be protecting her from. Compared to them, the sun was no threat at all.


    it was getting on for evening by then and they made their way to the canteen for their evening meal, all of them still wearing their magnetic harnesses. Jeffcott guessed they were scared of taking them off for the same reason he was; the possibility that the malign influence of the anomaly might be extending some distance ahead of the eerie, rippling curtain of wrongness. He was scared. They were all scared, and the powerful magnets were a source of reassurance, no matter how irrational that might be.


    ¡î¡î¡î


    The Sergeant woke them all up early the next morning. "Time to get up," he said, thumping the side of the camper van with his fist. "Rise and shine."


    Jeffcott hadn''t been able to get much sleep. The knowledge of what they would be walking into preyed on his mind. He knew he had slept a little, though, because he''d had a dream in which lumps of embryonic tissue had been squirming around inside his body. He''d woken up with a shiver of fear, his bedclothes drenched with sweat.


    "I''m glad I''m not the only one," he''d heard Duffy saying quietly in the darkness. "I was worrying that I was suffering from what they used to call lack of moral fibre."


    "I think they call that not being a moron these days," Jeffcott had replied. "Sorry if I woke you."


    "You didn''t. What kind of person can sleep with what''s waiting for us?"


    "Well I can, apparently. Or I could. I don''t think I want to sleep any more if that''s the kind of dream waiting for me, though. What time is it?"


    "About one I think." The camper had gaven a slight lurch as some junior soldier began driving it forward, to keep ahead of the advancing anomaly. Outside, the sound of engines had risen as the entire convoy moved together.


    "Maybe we should read for a while," Jeffcott had suggested. "An hour or so reading the dossiers and we might be able to get a couple of hours sleep before morning."


    "Worth a try I suppose." Duffy had reached across to turn on the light and they''d sat up in their uncomfortable cots before reaching for the folders.


    They had gotten no more sleep, though, and neither had any of the others to judge from the tired, haggard expressions they were wearing as they gathered in the canteen for breakfast. They ate in a nervous silence, none of them being able to find the appetite to manage more than a couple of slices of toast. The smell of bacon and eggs was drifting over from another table where a group of junior researchers were eating and Jeffcott knew that he really should get a plate for himself. This would be the last chance to eat anything but the dried foods they''d be taking with them until they left the anomaly, if they survived the experience. None of them had any intention of eating anything they found in there, even if they hadn''t been expressly forbidden from doing so. There was no telling what the anomaly might have done to it. Even water was to be treated with suspicion, and they would be taking plenty of it with them to make sure they wouldn''t have to rely on possibly contaminated local supplies. Jeffcott was so scared that even the smell of bacon was threatening to turn his stomach, though, and so he stood up and left as soon as he''d taken a couple of sips of his tea.


    As soon as the others had finished eating, the Captain had returned to tell them that it was time to set off. They would be entering the anomaly within the hour with the hope of reaching Maricopa before the end of the day. The powers that be wanted the experts to look at the Furnace before they retired for the night so they could spend the time before sleeping thinking about what they''d seen. It was a widely believed myth that insights that eluded the daytime mind often came in dreams, and their lords and masters were evidently hoping that there was some truth to it.


    The Sergeant and his men were waiting for them back at the wagons, which were having horses hitched to them. The horses seemed no happier at the prospect of entering the anomaly than the humans and were shuffling uncomfortably as the soldiers attached their straps and harnesses. One of them reached its head around to bite at the leather strap holding the magnet in place on its chest and a Private with a spiderweb tattoo on his neck gave it a flick with the end of a strap to make it stop.


    "Take your seats on the wagon," said the Sergeant without preamble. Then he ignored them and went back to organising his men. The experts climbed the three steps up to its flat bed and sat, four on each side, on the wooden benches, facing each other, their brand new spears laid across our knees. They were also wearing long military style knives in sheaths, hanging from their belts, cheerfully supplied by a bespectacled supply clerk just a few moments before. They were wickedly sharp but surprisingly light. They and the spears felt like toys in Jeffcott''s hands rather than weapons that might actually be used to kill someone.


    They sat fidgeting nervously as they waited for the soldiers to get themselves organised. "The soldiers didn''t seem scared," said Dennis Gruber. "I know I shouldn''t find that reassuring, but I do."


    "They probably have little idea what they''re about to enter," said Dennings. "They look like experienced veterans. They''ve probably been in war zones. Out there they''d be afraid of snipers and IED''s but we''re on home ground, in the USA. Their mindset is the same as people entering the site of a natural disaster like an earthquake. Whatever happened here has finished happening, they''re thinking, and all they''re doing is excorting a group of scientists to find out what happened."If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    "But they must feel the effect of the anomaly," said Bright in disbelief. "Just being close to it you can feel how... How wrong it is."


    "With all due respect to our friends in uniform, it doesn''t require much imagination to be a soldier," said Duffy. "We feel the wrongness because we''re intelligent and educated enough to have some idea of what''s happening here. Soldiers aren''t."


    Jeffcott nodded thoughtfully. The thing that disturbed the soldiers the most, he suspected, was the knowledge that their firearms wouldn''t work. They were all wearing sidearms, he saw, and he''d seen then loading rifles in one of the other wagons. No matter how useless they knew they were, no soldier would go anywhere without the weapons they were most familiar with. There was always the chance they might find a way to make them work. The soldiers were carrying lances, though. Longer versions of the weapons the experts had been issued with, designed to be used from horseback.


    "I wonder if they''ve been trained to fight from horseback," he said. "Who is in this day and age?"


    The Sergeant happened to be nearby and overheard the comment. He''d walked his horse over towards them without their noticing and was now only a few feet away, sitting upright in the saddle with his lance hanging vertically, point uppermost, from a strap around his shoulder.


    "These men all belong to historical reenactment societies," he said, fingering his moustache absent mindedly. "They like to practice old style forms of fighting, including horseback lance fighting. They''re all keen to try it out for real."


    "So it''s a sport to them," said Duffy. "Stabbing sacks of hay like we''ve been doing."


    "They are all, to a man, combat veterans," the Sergeant replied. "They may never have killed anyone with a lance, but they''ve seen the more conventional kind of action. If it comes down to it, they know how to handle themselves."


    He then walked his horse away to the front of the column and began giving orders to the Corporal. The Captain had also reappeared and was marching over to join the two of them. "Good luck, Edward," he said. "Don''t take any risks. Just get the eggheads there in one piece. Once you get there, form a perimeter around the building and defend it against anything that tries to get in. Not that there''s likely to be anything. They tell me that everything, animal and human, that''s been in there for more than a day will be dead. It''ll probably be pretty boring."


    "Boring is good," the Sergeant replied. "Soldiers like boring, as you know, Sir."


    The Captain nodded his agreement and Jeffcott remembered something someone had said about the life of a soldier being ninety nine percent boredom and one percent abject terror. He hoped they''d be avoiding any abject terror while in the anomaly.


    Then the Captain walked a few steps away before turning to look back at the Sergeant. The Sergeant dismounted and went over to join him and the two men spoke in low voices for a few moments. At one point the Sergeant glanced furtively back at the experts sitting in their wagon, but he quickly tore his gaze back to the Captain as if realising he was giving himself away. Jeffcott glanced across at the others and saw the same thought in their eyes. There was something they weren''t telling them.


    "Well, that''s not at all worrying," said Dennis Gruber dryly.


    "Is it too late to back out?" said Rahul Bhatt, grinning nervously.


    "We knew it would be dangerous," said Dennings. "They gave us these spears, after all. They showed us the people in the hospital..."


    "Which means the things they''re not telling us must be even worse," said Jeffcott. "I don''t know about you but I have a rather active imagination."


    "He''s coming this way," hissed Duffy urgently.


    They fell silent as they saw that the Captain marching towards them. "Hopefully you won''t be needing the spears," he told them amiably. "We just like to anticipate any possible problem that might occur."


    "What were you talking to the Sergeant about?" asked Duffy.


    "Just operational things," the Captain replied, the smile fixed on his face. "Nothing you need to worry about. Now, If someone, or some animal, has wandered in and been driven crazy by anomaly effects, the soldiers will deal with it. Let them guard and protect you. Your only job is to stop the anomaly growing. Get rid of it completely if you can, by any means necessary. Do this, and you will have the gratitude of the entire United States. The whole world in all likelihood."


    Jeffcott looked around at the other experts and saw them all glancing nervously at each other, all of them recognising the Captain''s effective dodging of Duffy''s question. They all knew that repeating the question would only get the same answer, though. Their only choices were to proceed with the expedition or get off the wagon, earning themselves a spell in a military prison. But a period of confinement might be infinitely preferable to whatever horrors the Captain wasn''t telling them about.


    He looked around at the others and saw them all waiting for the same thing he was waiting for; for someone else to take the lead. There was just a trace of tension on the Captain''s face as he watched them carefully, waiting to see what they would do. None of them had the courage to be the first, though, or perhaps they were as curious as Jeffcott was to see what mysteries lay within the anomaly. Stand up, Jeffcott told himself. Don''t be a fool. No discovery is worth dying for. If you stand, the others will stand as well. You won''t be left facing the Captain''s wrath all by yourself. He remained sitting, though. His curiosity was just too strong, or perhaps his willpower was too weak. In all honesty, he couldn''t have said which it was. If someone else had stood, he would have stood as well, but no-one else did. Not even when a smirk of satisfaction began to creep across the Captain''s face.


    "And if we die in there we''ll have a fine state funeral," muttered Duffy under his breath at last.


    The Captain looked relieved. Jeffcott thought there was almost a grateful look on his face. Duffy''s words had moved them on from the critical moment. The moment in which they might have mutinied en masse. The Captain now knew, and the experts knew as well, that they would be entering the anomaly. Their chance to back out had passed.


    "Well, good luck in there, and keep in touch," he said, stroking his moustache. Then he turned and marched back to the command portacabin, nodding to the Sergeant as he passed him. The Sergeant nodded back, then turned his horse to face the experts. "Alright," he said. "Let''s get this show on the road."


    He rode to the head of the column and the other riders nudged their horses to follow him. The three wagon drivers gave a slap of the reins and they jerked into motion, their wagon trundling along the tarmac towards the anomaly. People were lined up to watch them go, all of them looking worried, which increased Jeffcott''s own anxiety. My God, he thought. We''re really doing this. We''re really going in there.


    One of the soldiers guarding the anomaly moved aside to let them pass. This close, the sense of wrongness returned, getting steadily stronger as they approached. The Sergeant''s horse tossed its head nervously as it reached the shimmering, rippling boundary. The Sergeant patted the side of its neck to reassure it and urged it on.


    "Might some of the horses refuse to go in?" wondered Duffy aloud.


    "They''re well trained," said the wagon driver, turning to look back at him. "There''re still uses for horses on the battlefield even in this day and age. They''ll even ignore the sound of cannon fire. So long as they can sense that their riders are unafraid, they''ll be okay."


    Jeffcott knew the driver must have been at least seventeen to be serving in the American army, but he didn''t look it. He looked more like fourteen to him. He had a couple of medal ribbons on his uniform, though. Jeffcott wondered what he''d done to get them. "Cannon fire is one thing," he said, "but they''ve never experienced anything like this before."


    "They trust their riders," the wagon driver told him. "They''ll go where they''re led."


    He seemed to be right, Jeffcott saw as the Sergeant''s horse walked through the boundary, into the anomaly. The eight other riders went through in pairs, their horses encouraged by the fact that those going ahead of them had suffered no harm, and then it was their turn. There were six horses pulling the wagon carrying the experts. The first two went in, their bodies rippling as if seen through the surface of a sheet of water, then the next two. One of the third pair skittered uncertainly, though, and the wagon stopped for a moment as the driver waited for it to settle down.


    This close, Jeffcott was fascinated by the fact that he could actually see the anomaly growing, creeping across the black asphalt at about the speed of an ambling tortoise. Looking down over the side of the wagon, he saw it approaching a small tuft of grass growing through a crack in the road surface, swallowing it up one yellowing blade at a time. Then he saw a small lizard on the road, hurrying away from the edge of the phenomenon. He wondered whether it could sense the same wrongness the humans could. It stopped, standing motionless on the dusty black surface of the road, until the edge of the anomaly touched the tip of its tail whereupon it hurried away, its four legs making crazy circles around its body as it ran. Could it feel the anomaly? Jeffcott wondered. Soon find out...


    The wagon driver slapped the reins again and the wagon continued on, through the boundary. Jeffcott saw him shudder as the boundary layer passed over him, as if he''d been blasted by a jet of cold air. Mark Summers, the one sitting nearest the front of the wagon, tensed up as his turn came, but once he was inside he relaxed as if in disappointment, and then it was Jeffcott''s turn. He fingered the magnet sitting snugly on hie chest, reassuring himself that it was still there, surrounding him with invisible lines of magnetic force, and then the boundary was flowing across his body. He was aware of a faint, prickling sensation, as if all the hairs of his body were trying to stand up at once, and then he was inside.


    The prickling feeling faded, and he found that he felt completely normal. To his right he could see the people of the mobile command post rippling and shimmering now that the boundary was between him and them. He was inside the anomaly.

 Chapter Eight - The Road to Maricopa

    This part of Arizona, as well as pretty much the rest of Arizona, Jeffcott suspected, was pretty much nothing but desert. The land was wide, flat and empty except for a line of hills on the horizon. The road itself was the only man-made structure visible, except for a line of electricity pylons that followed it on one side. He knew that if he moved more than a couple of hundred metres from the road, he would see nothing to suggest that any other human beings lived on the planet. The scene was exactly as it would have been if he''d travelled a million years into the past.


    He imagined that this emptiness probably seemed completely normal and natural to an American. For him, though, an Englishman, no part of whose country was untouched by the hand of man, it was as haunting and alien as being on the surface of the moon. It wouldn''t have been so bad if there''d been some music playing. A radio, maybe, tuned to a country music station playing Kenny Rogers or Tanya Tucker. Here, though, inside the anomaly that soaked up radio signals like water trying to flow across blotting paper, there was nothing but the sound of the wagons creaking and groaning as they trundled along the road and the clopping of the horses'' hooves on the hot tarmac. It should have filled the emptiness, become a comforting backdrop to the surrounding silence, but instead it only threw the silence into sharp relief. It somehow made the silence more complete, more suffocatingly total, than true silence would have been.


    "This place makes me think of the prophets of the Bible," said Lucy Dennings. "And present day holy men who go out into the wilderness to commune with God. They claim it''s easier to hear the still, soft voice of God without all the noise and clamour of civilisation."


    She was speaking only to fill the silence, Jeffcott knew, but he was grateful for it. It was good to hear a human voice above the lonely whispering of the wind. "From the tone of your voice I gather you have another theory," he said.


    "Well, maybe," the psychologist replied. "I''m not a believer in any religion but what do I know? Maybe there really is a God and maybe he really does need quiet emptiness to best communicate with us mortals. Now that I''m here, though, surrounded by silence and emptiness, I''m reminded of something called third person syndrome."


    "What''s that?" asked Rahul Bhatt. He also sounded grateful for the conversation.


    "It''s a phenomenon in which, in times of hardship or crisis, people imagine the presence of another person who doesn''t exist or who wasn''t there," said Dennings. "It happened to Ernest Shackleton during one of his antarctic expeditions. That would have been in 1917 or thereabouts. He was stranded in pack ice for over two years and had to walk overland to reach safety. During one march in which they walked for thirty six hours straight he said that he imagined that there were four of them walking across the ice, not three."


    "That would be four man syndrome surely," said the Indian with a smile.


    Dennings ignored the comment. "When he described his experiences it inspired others to come forward to recount similar experiences. Climbers, shipwreck survivors. Individuals, or small groups of people, isolated from other people in harsh environments. There''s evidence that this phenomenon might be related to the concept of imaginary friends and guardian angels. The phenomenon has been replicated artificially in sensory deprivation chambers. You know, the ones where you sit in total darkness and silence until you begin to hallucinate." She looked out across the wide, empty Arizona desert. "Well, this place is like an outdoor sensory deprivation environment. Maybe those prophets and holy men only hallucinated their encounter with God as their brains, desperate for sensory input, started imagining an unreal companion as they tried to keep their owners from going insane."


    "Who is the third who walks always beside you?" said Duffy thoughtfully.


    "When I count, there are only you and I together


    "But when I look ahead up the white road


    "There is always another one walking beside you


    "Gliding wrapt in a brown mantle, hooded


    "I do not know whether a man or a woman


    "But who is that on the other side of you?"


    "TS Eliot," replied Jeffcott with a smile. "The Waste Lands. I read it as a teenager when a girl I was trying to impress recommended it to me. For some reason that passage stuck in my head."


    "Mine too," said Duffy. "That guy knew how to write."


    "Quite apt as well," said Dennings, "because Eliot claimed to have been inspired by Shackleton''s experience. Eliot''s third man in where the phenomenon got its name."


    Duffy chuckled dryly. "If that''s so," he said, "how long will it be before we start imagining unreal companions as well?"


    "We''re not going to be out here for forty days and forty nights," said Jeffcott, though. "We''ll be in Maricopa in just a few hours. Hardly long enough for us to start hallucinating. If we geed the horses into a gallop we could be there in less than an hour. Even back in England that would hardly be considered a long trip, and you guys travel further than that for a couple of drinks in a bar."


    "So good to know what the rest of the world thinks of us," said Dennings with a smile.


    Jeffcott smiled back. "And unlike those prophets and holy men," he added, "we''re not alone. Look at us, all bumping knees with each other and chatting. Keeping each other company." He glanced across at Robinson and Bright who were talking about old boyfriends. When they saw that they were the subject of his comment they glared at him before resuming their conversation in a lower voice.


    "I wonder if those plants are being affected by the anomaly?" said Dennis Gruber. Not speaking to anyone in particular. Just throwing the thought out into the void to see if anyone picked it up. "I mean, I know that plants have a slower metabolism than animals, but they''re living things and the anomaly seems to do strange things to living cells."


    Jeffcott looked out at the stunted shrubs that dotted the brown, dusty landscape. "None of them look as though they grew vigorously even under the best conditions," he said, "and in the present dry and heat they''re probably all but dormant. Waiting for the next decent rainfall, whenever that is. Perhaps if you looked at a thin slice of tissue under a microscope you might see some strange activity, but other than that..."


    "Those plants have been inside the anomaly for less than a day," said Mark Summers, the other doctor. "And even the fastest growing plants only grow a few millimetres in one day. We''re not going to see any plants showing any anomaly effects."


    Gruber nodded, looking disappointed, and Jeffcott wondered how similar the embryonic development of plants was to that of human beings. Probably pretty similar in its essentials, he thought. After all, both animals and plants started out as a ball of cells differentiating for different tasks, forming different tissue types, and animals and plants were descended from the same common ancestor, if you looked back far enough. He''d spotted a microscope amongst summers'' belongings when he''d come aboard. A simple thing of tubes, lenses and manual controls. No electronics to be affected by the anomaly.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    "I wonder if our escort would be willing to stop long enough for me to grab a few specimens?" said the doctor thoughtfully. "There might be insects, that sort of thing."


    "Wouldn''t they all be dead by now?" said Jettt.


    "Not necessarily. Insects are incredibly resistant to radiation. The popular idea that cockroaches would be the only creatures to survive a nuclear war isn''t that much of a myth. And if they can resist radiation, to a certain extent, maybe they''re resistant to anomaly effects as well."


    He looked up into the sky, probably trying to see if there were birds up there, but there was nothing but the silvery blue of the sky, unbroken even by clouds. Of course there wouldn''t be birds, thought Jeffcott as he followed the Doctor''s gaze upwards. They would all have been driven away by the sense of ''wrongness'' that the anomaly generated as it approached. Animals would also have fled the area, except possibly for burrowing rodents unwilling to leave their homes. And, of course, he reminded himself, there were no aircraft in the sky. This close to a city of two million people there should have been a steady stream of aircraft going to and from it, but there was a no-fly zone over the whole area. The anomaly wasn''t just circular, after all. It was a sphere, reaching down into the ground and up into the sky, currently reaching an altitude of eighty thousand feet above Maricopa. Some military aircraft might be able to go that high but he didn''t think any commercial aircraft could.


    Then he heard a shout. One of the mounted soldiers was pointing to something off to the right. They all looked and saw a man running across the arid landscape, waving to attract their attention. The convoy came to a halt and the Sergeant ordered two of his men to go and investigate. They galloped off, leaving the highway and rushing across the dusty ground, lowering their lances ready to skewer the man if necessary. The man stopped and raised his hands fearfully and the soldiers reined in their horses before him. A brief conversation took place, and then the soldiers walked their horses back to the road, the man walking between them.


    The Sergeant and two more of his men rode out to meet him and the experts strained their ears to overhear the conversation. "Thank God!" the man sobbed gratefully. "My friends need help. They''re sick. I can''t wake them up."


    The experts glanced at each other helplessly. A group of idiots who''d evaded the picket line, probably during the night, and entered the anomaly, driven by curiosity and the certainty that the authorities were hiding something. The man looked to be in his early twenties with bare, sunburned arms and a vest bearing the image of a cannabis leaf. He probably thought that the anomaly was caused by a crashed UFO or something.


    "I''m sorry," the Sergeant told him. "We can''t help you. If you follow the road, though, there''s a hospital just a few miles away. They''ll help you."


    "I can''t walk that far," the man replied desperately. "I''m sick. Radiation or something. I can hardly stay on my feet. You can take me on your wagon..."


    "I''m sorry," the Sergeant repeated. "We can''t help you. We''re going that way. The hospital is that way."


    "You can''t just leave me here!" The man staggered towards the Sergeant, his hands outstretched, and the soldiers pulled their guns from their holsters, aiming them at him. The man recoiled fearfully, his eyes wide and staring.


    "That way," said the Sergeant, pointing back the way they''d come. "The sooner you start, the sooner you''ll be there."


    "What about my friends?" The man begged. "They collapsed back there, just a little way back there. They''re dying! You can''t just leave them there."


    The Sergeant was turning his horse to return to the road, though. His two men waited for a moment, still aiming their guns at him, then they holstered them and followed. The man stared in disbelief, then burst into a run, heading straight for the convoy. He was surprisingly fast and had reached the wagons before any of the soldiers could stop him.


    "Please!" he begged, staring up at the experts. "Talk to them! Please! My name''s Phil. I have a girlfriend back in Glendale and a baby on the way. She needs me! Please!"


    Jeffcott stared at him in astonishment. This close, the man looked like a waxwork sculpture. His skin was an unnaturally even pink, as if he''d been coloured by a six year old child who had no idea how to capture the complex tones and hues of natural human skin, and it was shiny as if he''d been soaked in oil. He thought it was also a little transparent. He thought he could see a couple of millimetres below the surface, unless it was just an optical illusion caused by the oily surface.


    The pupils of his eyes had shrunk so much that they were almost invisible leaving his pupils a solid disk of almond brown, a sight that caused Jeffcott to shiver with a revulsion that surprised him with its intensity. He radiated the same sense of wrongness that the anomaly itself had, before they''d entered it. That sense had faded now they were inside, but this man, standing so close that he could have reached up and touched them with his waxy pink fingers, brought it back to Jeffcott with full force. He gripped his spear and readied himself to bring it to bear against him while praying it wouldn''t be necessary. He was suddenly certain that if he pierced his skin, his blood would be the same shade of pink. For some reason, the idea terrified him.


    The two doctors twisted around to see him, their professional curiosity aroused, but then the Sergeant was giving the order for the convoy to proceed. The wagon jerked back into motion and the sick man clutched hold of the railing so that it pulled him along. "Please!" he begged. "Please!"


    "Isn''t there anything we can do?" asked Mark Summers. As a doctor, he had sworn an oath, but Jeffcott could see that the others were all feeling the same desperate urge to help the man; a feeling that warred with an instinctive desire to put distance between him and them.


    "Even if we could get him to the hospital immediately, you''ve seen how little they can do," Rahul Bhatt replied. "Whatever they do for him would only prolong his suffering."


    "What are you saying?" The sick man demanded. "What others?"


    Then the Sergeant was there, reaching out from horseback to pull the sick man away from the wagon. "Away with you now," he said. "Either go to the hospital or go back to your friends. There''s nothing for you here."


    "Damn you!" the sick man swore at him. "Damn you to hell!"


    He made a grab for the pistol the Sergeant was wearing on his hip. The Sergeant pushed him roughly away and the man fell with a gasp of pain as his hip came down on a rock. He climbed back to his feet with a snarl of rage and prepared to launch himself at the Sergeant. The Sergeant pulled his lance free from its harness and lowered its point towards him. The man ran forward and the Sergeant thrust its point through the man''s heart.


    There were gasps of shock from the civilians. The sick man''s blood was red, it turned out. A spurt of it erupted from his chest as the Sergeant pulled his lance free. Then the man fell with a sigh as his last breath escaped him. Jeffcott thought the sigh sounded almost grateful, as if the man was finally free of some terrible torment. Maybe he was.


    The Sergeant looked at the civilians as if expecting them to cry out in condemnation, but no-one did. "Probably the kindest thing that could have been done for him," said Dennis Gruber quietly. "Remember those poor souls back at the hospital."


    . The Sergeant clearly thought so because he was wearing a determined, unrepentant expression that told them that he had no problem with the way things had turned out. He was replacing his lance in its harness, still looking at them. Then he turned his horse and returned to the head of the convoy, leaving the dead man lying in the dust.


    "Let''s go," he said. "We''ve got time to make up."


    The three wagon drivers slapped their reins and they continued on. Jeffcott tried not to look at the dead man as they passed him, but his eyes seemed to be under the control of a power greater than his. The man had rolled onto his back, and the intensity of the situation made Jeffcott notice tiny details that he would probably have missed otherwise. The large bloodstain covering the cannabis leaf design on his vest was still growing as more blood leaked from his wound and dust was sticking to the oily skin of his arms and face. As their wagon passed him by, though, he thought he saw movement under his skin. Colonies of embryonic tissue, he assumed. Moving around inside the corpse, and now they had seventy kilos of dead meat to feed on.


    He looked at the other experts. They were carefully looking away from the corpse except for Dennis Gruber, the expert on embryonic growth defects, who was staring at it with a horrified intensity. Was he imagining those embryos growing until they had nothing left to feed on? Jeffcott wondered. Was he imagining small but utterly monstrous creatures tearing their way through the skin and wriggling off in search of something else to eat? Jeffcott thought he was, because he was imagining the exact same thing.


    Gruber tore his gaze away from the corpse with a visible effort and for a brief moment his eyes met Jeffcott''s. They each read what the other was thinking and they tore their gazes apart as if jerked by an electric shock. Jeffcott noticed that the doctor avoided looking at him for a long time after that.

 Chapter Nine - Calling Home

    Jeffcott looked at his watch.


    It was an electric digital watch and it was showing gibberish. Every now and then the seven elements of each digit would come on in a pattern that showed a number, and occasionally they would even count seconds, but most of the time they went on and off seemingly at random. Even when the display seemed to show a sensible time he had no way of knowing if it was the right time. The thing was useless.


    He saw Chery looking at him with amusement. "They told you electrical devices didn''t work in here," she said.


    "I hoped the magnet would protect it," said Jeffcott. "The same way it''s supposed to be protecting us."


    "If it did, they could just strap a magnet to a drone and we wouldn''t need to be here," the other physicist replied.


    Jeffcott nodded. "I''m part engineer on my father''s side," he explained. "He always told me that, no matter what the theory says, an engineer doesn''t accept it as true until he''s done the experiment and found out." He looked down at his watch again. "And now I guess I''ve found out."


    "I bet you''re wishing you''d brought an old fashioned clockwork watch," said Rahul Bhatt, pushing up the sleeve of his robes to show off a large instrument whose electroplated silver finish had rubbed off in places to reveal the nickel beneath. "Belonged to my grandfather," he said smugly, but then he frowned when he looked down at it himself. "No, that can''t be right," he said.


    "What can''t? asked Jeffcott.


    "It says it''s eight fifteen. It''s been longer than that, surely."


    "Yeah," said Robinson. "It feels like a couple of hours since we left the observation post. Your watch must be slow."


    The mathematician wound the winder. "It''s fully wound," he said. He held it up to his ear to listen to it ticking.


    Jeffcott looked at his own watch again. He couldn''t have said why. "I was thinking we should be getting close to Sweetwater village by now. They said it would take two hours."


    "They said around two hours," Duffy pointed out. He looked ahead down Interstate Ten, which was still empty except for the occasional abandoned car. "It''s just taking a little longer, that''s all."


    "According to my watch we only set out forty five minutes ago," insisted Rahul Bhatt. "Clockwork doesn''t lie."


    "Humans are not very good at judging the passage of time," said Dennings. "It''s very subjective. Depends on how much stimulation there is in the environment."


    "Time flies when you''re having fun," said Jeffcott, smiling.


    "Exactly," the psychologist replied. "We''re feeling the opposite of that. Time creeps when you''re bored, bereft of stimulation. It makes us think more time has passed than really has."


    Jeffcott frowned, though. It was a very plausible, very sensible explanation, but it just didn''t sit right with him, and looking around at the others he could see that it didn''t sit right with them either. Even the wagon driver, young Private Seabreeze, looked doubtful. It definitely felt as if more time had passed than that. He looked down at the half-empty bottle of mineral water lying on the bench beside him. Other experts had finished their bottles and started on a second in an attempt to replace the fluids they were sweating out. And yet none of them had been guzzling it. They had been taking the occasional swallow as necessary, to keep their throats moist. Surely it had been more than forty five minutes.


    He looked up at the sun, trying to see if it had moved since they''d left the command post, but as far as he could see it was still in the same place. He sighed. Maybe Dennings was right. Maybe it really had only been forty five minutes. It was the most logical explanation after all, but if so, it was going to seem a long time before they got to Maricopa. He settled back in his seat, pulled his baseball cap low down over his eyes to keep out the sun and tried to take a nap.


    The gentle rocking and swaying of the wagon on the smooth tarmac of the road, and the low voices of the two doctors as they discussed the anomaly effects on the human body, lulled him into a rather pleasant in-between state of consciousness that he only roused himself from to take the occasional sip of water. Then, some time later, he became aware that the wagon had stopped. He looked around and saw that the Sergeant and some of his men were gathered around the second wagon, the one carrying all their equipment, and were unpacking something.


    The activity had attracted the attention of all the experts, and people who had slipped into a light doze were rousing themselves back to full consciousness. Rahul Bhatt, at the back, was climbing down off the wagon, followed by Lisa and Bright. The rest of them, not wanting to be left out, followed and then they all set off in a group to see what the soldiers were doing.


    "Look around," said the Sergeant in reply to Bhatt''s question. Jeffcott took a quick glance. They were still in the desert, surrounded by the same barren emptiness. "It''s been around four hours by my reckoning," the Sergeant continued. "We should have been in Sweetwater Village an hour ago. Either we took a wrong turn or there''s something hinky going on."


    "We can''t have taken a wrong turn," the mathematician replied. "Sweetwater''s where we turn off the interstate. All we''ve got to do is follow it."


    "Could we have gone past it?" asked Dennings. "I had a look at the place on Google Streetview last night and there''s no actual village there. It''s just a place where roads come together. We''ve all been zoning out, dozing off. Not paying attention..."


    "Soldiers on duty do not zone out," said the Sergeant sharply. "We didn''t pass through it. Our journey is taking us longer than we thought."This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    "The anomaly is affecting electronic watches," said Jeffcott. "We noticed it some time ago. Less time has passed than you think. Bhatt here..." He beckoned the mathemarician forward. "...is wearing a mechanical, clockwork watch. It shows how much time has really passed."


    "One hour thirty since we left the command post," said Bhatt, raising his wrist and letting the sleeve of his robes drop away to reveal it.


    "I know what four hours feels like," said the Sergeant, though. "I''m thirsty, the horses are thirsty. We need to stop to water them anyway. We''re taking the opportunity to talk to the command post. See how much time they think has passed."


    His men had removed the signalling lamp and were setting it up on a stand to point upwards. Another man was composing a morse code message, jotting down dots and dashes on a small notepad while consulting a laminated, printed sheet. Bhatt gathered up the rest of the experts and took them a short distance away. "Best let them get on with it," he said. "They''ll figure out the truth for themselves."


    "Are you sure he''s wrong?" asked Mark Summers, frowning with concern. "It really does seem we''ve been out here a lot longer than just an hour and a half."


    "Look at the sun," said Bhatt, pointing upwards. "It was seven thirty when we set out. If four hours had passed the sun would be almost overhead by own. It''s not. It''s still quite low. The sun doesn''t lie."


    "Then what the hell''s going on?" demanded Summers. "There''s no way it''s only been ninety minutes."


    "The simplest explanation is that the anomaly is affecting our minds," said Dennings, coming forward to stand with the two men. "It''s affecting our perception of the passage of time. Only ninety minutes has passed but it seems longer because the anomaly is doing something to us."


    "These magnets are supposed to be protecting us," said Jeffcott, feeling scared.


    "It''s clearly not providing complete protection," the psychologist replied. "It''s affecting our electronic wristwatches even though they''re inside the magnetic fields generated by our magnets. Now it looks as though it''s affecting our brains as well."


    "So what can we expect in the future?" asked Jeffcott. "What else is it going to do to us?"


    "Our perception of reality is likely to be affected in other ways," Dennings told him. "There are certain drugs that have the same effect. People under their influence can be terrified by mundane objects. A hat, for instance, or a teacup. The person perceives them as horrific for no reason he can identify. He loses the ability to recognise familiar faces. He perceives a six inch step to be the top of a thousand foot cliff. It''s possible to overcome these effects with strict mental discipline, though. You simply tell yourself that it''s just a hat, that it''s nothing to be scared of."


    "We should turn back," said Duffy earnestly. "If it''s affecting us mentally, it could be affecting us physically as well. We might suffer the same symptoms as those poor sods in the hospital."


    "The anomaly is growing," Jeffcott reminded him. "We have to stop it."


    "At the cost of our own lives?"


    Jeffcott carefully kept himself from looking in Robinson''s direction. "If necessary, yes. We have a responsibility to the world."


    "Well I didn''t sign on to be a hero. We were told these magnets would keep us safe. If they were wrong then we need to leave. We can''t save the world if we''re dead."


    "Why don''t we wait to see what reply they get from the command post?" suggested Bhatt, looking back at where the soldiers were still fussing with the signalling lamp. "Maybe they''ll order us to turn back when they find out what''s happening."


    People nodded at the suggestion. It meant they could delay, or even avoid, a nasty confrontation with the soldiers, and so they drifted back to where two of the Sergeant''s men were hooking up the signal lamp to the generator with two thick cables. Private Costanzo then turned the igniton key to preheat the generator and waited a moment for the engine to warm up. Then he turned the key the other way and the generator, inside its tent of magnetic gauze, started up with a cloud of black smoke from the exhaust pipe. Then it was running, though, and Costanzo adjusted the throttle until it was running at a steady rumble.


    "Nobody look at the light while it''s on," said the Sergeant. "Turn your backs just to be safe."


    They did, and Jeffcott had to imagine the Sergeant beckoning Private Bernstein, who was wearing what looked like welding goggles, forward to operate the lamp. When the light came on, it was more intense than Jeffcott had ever imagined, as if someone had detonated a nuke behind them. He had his eyes closed, but it was still painfully bright as it reflected from the white robes worn by the other experts and the tarpaulin covering the supply wagon. He threw his arm across his eyes and could still see the blood vessels in his eyelids even though most of the lamp''s light was being directed upwards by the mirrors around the plasma emitter. Even the horses were startled, despite the hoods that the soldiers had placed over their heads. They whickered with alarm and pulled against the ropes tied to the posts the soldiers had hammered into the ground. Soldiers patted their necks and tried to reassure them.


    The light flashed on and off as Bernstein sent the dashes and dots of the morse code message, and then it was done. The experts lowered their arms gratefully and turned to see Costanzo turning the generator off. Smoke was rising from the signal lamp, and Jeffcott was startled to see that one of its metal sides was glowing a dull red with heat.


    "And now we wait," said the Sergeant as his men disconnected the cables and packed them away. He consulted the look-up tables he''d brought with him. "If we assume that Mister Singh''s clockwork watch is telling the truth, then the reply satellite is currently low to the west, but let''s keep our eyes on the whole sky just in case. Everyone look out for it and yell if you see a light flashing."


    "It''ll take time for the people back at the command post to get word of the message," mused Duffy to himself. "Then they have to compose a reply and send it to the people controlling the satellite. It might take several minutes."


    Jeffcott nodded. They weren''t too worried when time went by without any of them seeing anything, therefore, and they were all very much aware that they might be misjudging the passage of time again. "Five minutes since we sent the message," said Rahul Bhatt, looking at his watch. "I assume they''ll send a reply saying they got our message even if they take a while to compose a proper reply."


    "They''ll send an R for Received," the Sergeant replied. "That''s a dot, a dash and a dot in morse code. That''s what we look for. They''ll send it five times."


    They squinted up into the sky, their eyes beginning to water as they drank in the brightness. "Could we have missed it?" asked Bright when Bhatt announced that ten minutes had now passed.


    "Maybe," said Duffy. "Looking for a flashing light in all that brightness... Or maybe none of us was looking in the right direction."


    "Or maybe time really is messed up," said Summers, "and the satellite''s below the horizon."


    "The satellite drops below the horizon an hour before sunset," replied the Sergeant.


    They all nodded in growing apprehension. The sun was still fairly low in the sky. It seemed to have hardly moved since they set out. There weren''t any clouds in the sky either. Nothing that might have blocked out the light. What the hell was going on?


    "If only an hour and a half has passed since we set out," said Dennings, "maybe they just weren''t expecting us to send a message yet. Maybe they weren''t looking."


    They all nodded hopefully. It seemed the most sensible and reasonable explanation. "We''ll try again when we reach Maricopa," said the Sergeant. "Until then, we carry on. Everyone climb aboard. This damned desert is creeping me out."


    Jeffcott waited to see if anyone would suggest turning back, but no-one did so the eight experts returned to the wagon and climbed aboard. Then young Private Seabreeze slapped the reins and the wagon lurched back into motion.

 Chapter Ten - Sweetwater

    Jeffcott tried to fall asleep. He figured that strange, time stretching illusions wouldn''t work if he was asleep, and so he settled back in his seat and tried to allow the gentle rocking of the wagon to lull him away. When he awoke he would be in Maricopa. Maybe the others would tell him that a week had seemed to pass on the road but he would have missed it and be ready to get to work.


    He did fall asleep, but it had a side effect he hadn''t expected. He had a nightmare, worse than any he''d ever had before. In the nightmare his body was swelling and distorting as tumors grew inside him. Living tumors that moved and squirmed around like tentacled monsters, pushing their way between bones and organs, bulging under his skin. The skin of his hand stretched until it was almost transparent allowing him to actually see the monster sitting on the bones, pseudopods reaching down to his fingers and up into his wrist, writhing in constant motion. Then an eye opened. The thing looked out at him through the drum-tight skin and he could feel its hatred as it contemplated how it was going to cause him the most pain...


    He was awoken by a hand shaking his shoulder. He was drenched with sweat, whether from the Arizona heat or the terror of the dream he couldn''t tell. The hand belonged to Duffy and he was looking at him with concern. "You okay?" he asked.


    "Fine," said Jeffcott, looking at his hand. He was relieved to see that it looked completely normal. "Where are we?"


    "Sweetwater," his colleague replied. He pointed and Jeffcott looked to see that there were other roads running alongside the interstate, some of them crossing it. "We''re stopping here for a bite to eat."


    "Sounds good," said Jeffcott, rousing himself and jumping down from the wagon. "I''m starving."


    "We all are," Duffy agreed, "which is strange."


    It took Jeffcott a moment to realise what his colleague meant. "What time is it?" he asked. "How long has it been since we left the command post?"


    "According to Mister Singh''s wonderful clockwork apparatus, it''s nine twenty, which would mean we made good time. We got here in less than two hours."


    There was a frown on his face as he said it, though, and Jeffcott understood the reason for it. "I feel like I haven''t eaten in twenty four hours."


    "Those of us who stayed awake feel as if twenty four hours has passed. Well, not literally, but we''re tired as if we''ve been awake for a full day."


    Jeffcott looked up at the sky. The sun still hadn''t reached its zenith. It was about where it would be if it were nine thirty in the morning. "We thought the anomaly was affecting our perception of the passage of time," he said, "but if we''re all hungry, is it possible that all the biochemical processes of our body have sped up? We''re thinking faster, digesting food faster..."


    "If I remember correctly, none of us ate much this morning," said Duffy. "We were all too scared. It ruined our appetites. Maybe that''s the reason we''re hungry now. Maybe it''s as simple as that."


    "Maybe," Jeffcott conceded. "We can put it to the test. When we set off again, I''ll count to a hundred and we''ll ask Mister Singh to tell us how long it took according to his watch."


    "Count out loud so we can all hear you," the other physicist suggested. "It''ll allow us to directly compare how fast you think you''re thinking to how fast you''re actually thinking."


    Jeffcott nodded feeling better. Using science to study the phenomenon somehow made it a lot less scary. They were taming the monster. Tying it down with chains made of numbers and measurable quantities. It made him feel in control, and looking at Duffy he saw that he was feeling the same way. We''re scientists, he thought proudly. We don''t tremble with fear when the universe does something we don''t understand. We study it and use it to push back the boundaries of human knowledge. The unknown isn''t scary to a scientist. It''s exciting. It''s a discovery waiting to happen.


    The two men made their way to the supply wagon where the soldiers were handing out army rations. Jeffcott and Duffy took one each and moved a short distance away to eat them. Jeffcott found it bland as he chewed it, but didn''t doubt that it contained everything the human body needed. Some army scientist would have made sure of it.


    He looked around at the dusty horizon. Apart from the other roads running close to theirs it looked like just another patch of desert. "So what is this place?" he asked. "I assumed that Sweetwater Village would be, well, a village."


    "Private Seabreeze says there was once a stagecoach station here," Duffy replied. "Back in the days of the old wild west. A village grew up around it, but it became a ghost town as all the business went to Maricopa. Now there''s nothing left."


    "Nothing but tumbleweeds," said Jeffcott, now feeling full of good humour. "Except there are no tumbleweeds. Just the grass."


    "The tumbleweeds probably died out," Duffy replied. "They''re not native to this country. They came over from Russia with grain shipments. Their proper name is Russian thistle. It amuses me whenever I see them in westerns."


    The soldiers were spreading out, Jeffcott saw. Searching the area. "This is the road," he heard one of them calling out to the Sergeant. "This turnoff leads to Casa Blanca road. We follow it west to Maricopa road, then turn south."


    "Very good," the Sergeant replied.The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    "Sergeant, looks like there''s a pile up down that way. The whole road''s blocked. We could go around it quite easily..."


    The Sergeant squinted his eyes as he looked in the indicated direction. Jeffcott looked as well and saw an eighteen wheeler laying on its side, just visible in the distance. There was nothing to tell what had happened to it.


    "No," the Sergeant replied. "Let''s not risk a horse breaking a leg in a gopher hole. We can shift that thing by hitching the horses to it. We''ve only got a drag it a little way, open up one lane. With everything else going weird around here, I''d feel safer with good, solid tarmac under our feet. Organise it please, Corporal."


    "Yes, Sergeant."


    Suddenly a soldier, looking down at the ground, recoiled in horror. What''s the problem?" asked one of the other soldiers, going across to him. "You okay?"


    The first soldier could only point at something on the ground, though, while backing away from it. The second soldier moved forward to see what it was. "There''s nothing there," he said. The first soldier said nothing but walked further away. He looked as if he wanted to run.


    The second soldier was still staring at the spot on the ground he''d been pointing at. He bent down and picked up a crushed beer can. "What, this?'' he said. He took it towards the first soldier.


    The first soldier just backed away faster, though, grimacing with disgust. "Don''t bring it to me!" he said, his hands raised to ward it off. "Get rid of it."


    "What''s wrong?" The second soldier asked. "It''s just an old can. See?"


    "It''s disgusting," the first soldier declared. "Just get rid of it."


    "Let me see," said Dennings, striding over to look. She took the can from the second soldier and turned it this way and that, examining it from all angles. "Just an empty beer can," he said. She turned to the first soldier. "How would you describe it?" she asked.


    "It''s revolting?" the man replied, staring at the psychologist as if amazed that she could bear to touch it. "Disgusting."


    "Why?" asked Dennings. "What about it makes it disgusting?"


    "I don''t know! It just is!"


    "I believe you''re suffering an anomaly effect," Dennings told him. "It''s altering your perception of everyday objects, making your brain perceive this can as disgusting. Intellectually, though, you know it''s just a can of beer. Right?"


    "It''s a disgusting beer can!"


    "It''s the anomaly making you think that. If you try, though, you can make yourself perceive it as it truly is. Just tell yourself that it''s just a beer can. If your brain insists that it''s disgusting, ask yourself why it''s disgusting. What about it makes it disgusting? Your brain won''t be able to answer. Try it. Okay?"


    The man nodded. He made himself look at the beer can, but he was looking at it askance, as if he would much rather throw a blanket over it to hide it from sight. Gradually, though, he turned his head to look at it directly, his eyes widening in astonishment, and then he walked over and took it from the psychologist. "It''s just a beer can," he said, chuckling nervously.


    "It always was," Dennings replied, watching him carefully.


    "When I first saw it, I thought it was the most horrible thing imaginable! Like a dead dog, stinking and crawling with maggots. It didn''t look any different. It just seemed horrible. You know?"


    "False perception," the psychologist replied. "If you know it''s a false perception it''s easy to overcome it, as you just did. The danger is when you don''t know that your perception is being influenced. A feeling of invincibility, for example, or thinking that the gap between two buildings is narrow enough to jump over."


    The Private looked scared, and Jeffcott didn''t blame him. Not being able to trust your own sense of judgement must be scary as hell. The other Privates didn''t get it, though, and were joking with each other, ribbing the unfortunate man mercilessly. One of them found a dirty cigarette packet and was offering it to the poor man, telling him it was an apple flapjack. "It''s delicious, I tell you," he insisted. "You''re just perceiving it differently." The other soldiers laughed uproariously until the Sergeant barked at them to cut it out.


    "Idiots," Dennings muttered to herself. "False perception doesn''t affect physical appearance. Just whether it''s nasty or nice, ugly or beautiful. They don''t get it. Only that soldier, and only because he''s experienced it first hand. The others won''t understand until they''ve experienced it for themselves. We should brief them. Gather them all together and tell them what we can expect as we go deeper in. Forewarned is forearmed. It might help them deal with it."


    "I''ll go suggest it to the Sergeant," said Mark Summers. He walked over to where the soldiers were still unhitching horses from the wagons.


    "Is it possible we might experience actual hallucinations as well as these false perception?" asked Robinson, staring at something curiously. There was nothing in the direction she was looking that Jeffcott could see. Nothing but dusty ground and grass.


    "Your guess is as good as mine," Dennings replied.


    "The reason I ask," Cheryi added, "is that, over there, I can see a wooden building with a stagecoach in front of it. It looks like something from a western."


    Everyone stared in the indicated direction but no-one else could see it. "Could she actually be seeing an image from the past?" asked Bright, sounding envious. "I read somewhere that images can be preserved in rocks and released under the proper circumstances."


    "Utter balderdash," said Vincenf firmly. "Do you believe in ghosts as well?"


    "It could be a logical, scientific explanation for ghosts."


    "I assure you it could not."


    "What colour are the horses?" Interrupted Dennings hastily.


    "Brown," said Robinson. "You know, horse colour. Why?"


    "Because I heard an interesting factoid the other day. All the horses employed by the Phoenix stagecoach company were white."


    Robinson''s eyes widened with amazement. "You''re right," she said. "The horses are white. How didn''t I see that before?"


    "Because it''s a hallucination, as you suspected," the psychologist replied. "I made up the fact about the white horses and your brain incorporated the new information into the hallucination."


    Robinson grinned with delight. "That''s awesome!" she said as Duffy grinned triumphantly at Bright. The linguist turned away in annoyance. "But if we''re going to start hallucinating, that could be a problem, couldn''t it? How do we tell fact from fiction?"


    "The same way you did just now," the psychologist replied. "If you see something out of place, something that doesn''t belong, it''s probably a hallucination. Ask someone else if they can see it. All we''ve got to do is keep our wits about us."


    "Can you still see the stagecoach?" Jeffcott asked Robinson.


    "No. It''s gone." She sounded disappointed.


    The conversation stopped as they saw Mark Summers and the Sergeant marching towards them. "They told me what happened," the Sergeant said. "The beer can. The doctor says you can brief us on what we can expect out here."


    "The important thing to remember," the psychologist told him, "is that it''s a known effect of certain kinds of brain stimulation. It''s like being affected by hallucinogenic drugs.It doesn''t mean you''re going mad."


    "Don''t tell me," the Sergeant replied. "Tell them." He indicated where the Corporal was gathering all the soldiers together.


    "Be glad to," Dennings replied, and she followed the Sergeant as he led the way to join them.