Doctor Who_ Cat's Cradle_ Warhead - Andrew Cartmel [111]
The man and woman were immediately beside Ace, a little closer than she would have liked. Ace’s heart was racing.
The cell door was locking behind her. She was out. Ace couldn’t quite believe it. She felt like running, before someone could change their mind. Now that she had time to think, the pain was coming back. Her shoulder pulsed with pain and sweat crawled down her sides. She felt a little feverish.
The woman was smiling at her. She had perfect teeth. She caught Ace’s hand and shook it. ‘My name is Stephanie, this is Mr Mulwray.’
* * *
‘Are you sure?’ Petersen was saying. ‘The subconscious mind can respond with amazing speed.’
‘You’re talking about reflexes,’ said Mancuso. ‘I know what my own reflexes feel like.’
‘It was a moment of extreme stress –’
Mancuso set aside her cup of powdery, machine‐tasting coffee. ‘Listen, I didn’t do anything. I was standing there in the drugstore. The situation appeared to be under control. I was trying to do a count in my head, working out if we’d dropped all of them. Then the gun swivelled. It moved on some kind of universal joint just over the handle. It moved by itself.’
Petersen sighed and took a Phillips screwdriver out of a coffee mug full of pens on his desk. On the coffee mug there was a big letter I, then a drawing of a heart, then big letters NY. The heart had bullets holes in it. ‘They never tell us exactly what to expect with the new weapons systems.’ He opened a concealed panel on the underside of the gun and began to work at a recessed screw.
‘I thought you guys designed them,’ said Mancuso, pacing the laboratory area. The R&D lab was a big open space occupied by work stations, desks and long benches. It was silent except for recurrent deep rumbling and a regular high‐pitched beeping sound.
‘Mostly we do,’ said Petersen, ‘but sometimes we get government or company specifications. Features they want us to test.’
‘Features they want us to test,’ said Mancuso, returning to stand at the desk beside Petersen. ‘When was the last time one of you guys fired a gun?’
‘When was the last time you dismantled one? These thing have been known to blow up when you take them apart. Greetings from the Pacific Basin.’ Petersen’s fingers had found the seam that divided the lower cylinder of the gun and he was prying it apart.
‘Where’s that noise coming from? The beeping.’ Mancuso crushed her coffee cup and dumped it in a bin of junk fax and printout.
‘Why don’t you settle down? Read a book or something.’ Petersen indicated his desk screen. ‘That noise is the coder on the door lock. The side entrance, down in the alley. Ignore it. It’s just some wino punching numbers, trying to get lucky.’ On the small screen digits flashed on, in time with the beeping sound. Petersen watched the sequence of numbers for a moment, then returned to the gun on his desk. ‘Come and see this.’
The black metal cylinder was lined with a white plastic honeycomb matrix that supported the gun’s control system. There were surprisingly few components. A complex optical unit with a shatterproof quartz lens that peeked out of the front end of the tube, just under the muzzle. A bus cable that ran the length of the cylinder. A little silver sticker that said ‘Made in Korea’. Some drops of spilled solder. A rack of chips and a large, non‐standard chip with a luminous line framing it. Petersen pointed with the screwdriver. ‘That’s special. It’s powered all the time. It has its own long‐life battery on the underside.’ Petersen’s fingers moved to the bus cable, gently working it free. A flat tongue of clear plastic emerged with a network of copper lines embossed on it.
Petersen had connected an earthing line to his wrist so that static wouldn’t fry the circuitry.
‘So what’s it for?’ said Mancuso, leaning closer.