Doctor Who_ Warlock - Andrew Cartmel [83]
Now Tommy moved from the guillotine and turned his attention to the shuttlebox. He switched it on at the wall socket. He triggered the electric floor seven consecutive times, alternating sides, and only once did rat number 417 make even a sluggish attempt to heave himself over the low partition.
‘You’re approaching the end of your experimental usefulness, my old son,’ said Tommy.
He meticulously noted the final behaviour of 417 on his lab computer before switching off the current to the shuttlebox. The light inside the box went off as the current died. Almost immediately the rat collapsed against the partition of the box, like a prizefighter subsiding in his corner after a particularly vicious bout.
The rat seemed to understand that the ordeal was over. Perhaps he related the light going off in the box to the cessation of shocks – a subtle form of Pavlovian conditioning. Tommy made a note to investigate this at a later date. Maybe there would even be a paper in it. That would teach his sister a lesson. She regarded herself as the only true scientist among her siblings, with some small degree of justification. Publication of a paper was still the hallmark of academic success and Pam had published a dozen. Tommy wondered how quickly he could surpass his sister’s record.
Tommy left 417 gasping in the shuttlebox and pondered this notion as he went out of the building to get the new dog and the three new cats.
Tommy sealed the lab, strolled past the goldfish pond and let himself into the barn, moving through the central aisle of the infirmary area. When he reached the glass door he had to pause and remind himself not to come into sight of the video camera. He didn’t want to be accused of interfering with the experiment.
Tommy went through the glass door as slowly and quietly as he could. He hoped that the animal rights fanatics wouldn’t say anything to him, thereby recording his presence on the video.
But the man and the two girls were as spaced out as before. They stared glassily right past him, as if he wasn’t there. Tommy was grateful. He switched on the electric trolley and crept back through the glass door as quickly as he could.
Tommy punched his code to unlock the back door of the barn and then got a box of surgical gauze down from one of the shelves by the infirmary. He used the box to wedge the door open so it wouldn’t bash against the trolley as he fought his way out of the barn. He left the door open as he trundled away towards the lab. This was a blatant violation of security protocols and he would have to remember to go back and shut it.
There were all the predictable problems manoeuvring the trolley back to the lab across the uneven surface of the footpaths and the lawn. The device had been designed for use on level concrete floors inside a building and if it hit any irregularity its electric motor automatically switched off. The idea was to prevent valuable samples spilling off the trolley bed. It had probably been a sensible concept on paper, but it made the damned thing almost useless for transporting a load outdoors. Tommy spent ten frustrating, sweaty minutes coaxing the trolley across to the lab.
Normally by now his tension would have communicated itself to the animals he was carrying. But these four were oddly subdued, staring fixedly out of their cages or just lying there silent. Tommy was delighted by this unusual behaviour. It made them easier to handle.
He punched his code on the number box outside the lab and paused to pick up a brick fragment, left over from the construction of the ornamental pond, which he stored in the grass especially. When the swinging metal door was propped open he pushed quickly through, not bothering to close it behind him. As soon as the trolley encountered