Роберт Грант - The Quanderhorn Xperimentations

Alarmingly, it was indeed me. ‘ Aaaaaahhhh! Oh yes. Sorry. I just looked down and saw the Earth shrinking away from us! I’ve never seen that before.’

‘Yes, you have. Often. And you always scream like that. There’s really nothing to get nervous ab—’

There was the sudden burst of air, and a fantastic maelstrom of pressure tried to suck us from our seats into the black lifeless void.

I whipped my head round towards the rear of the ship, to find the source of the breach.

Someone had opened a window.

A red emergency light started flashing, a siren whoop-whooped, and the metallic voice kicked in: ‘ Hull integrity compromised. Oxygen depletion in… hang on, I’ve got to go off and do the end of the world thing . Just work it out yourselves.’

Straining against the overwhelming suction, I prised my fingernails out of the arm rest. I unharnessed and, holding on desperately to whatever I could, I struggled manfully against the fantastic force that was intent on dragging me inexorably towards the back of the craft. Just as I was nearly there and stretching for the porthole cover, a stanchion I was hanging on to tore free from its housing, and I was almost sucked outside to a cold oblivion.

Somehow I contrived to brace myself against a bulkhead and finally managed to reach over and wrench the wretched thing shut.

I sank to the floor, panting and drenched in the sweat of near catastrophe.

‘Sorry,’ Troy said. ‘I thought a cigarette might relax me.’

‘ What?’ I dragged myself upright.

Troy took a puff. ‘There ought to be some sort of sticker here about not opening the window in outer space.’

‘You mean,’ Gemma called, ‘next to the sticker that says “Troy – Do Not Open This Window In Outer Space”?’

Troy tapped the sticker. ‘Yes, right next to that. Nearly sucked my face off!’

I hauled myself back to the pilot seat.

‘Troy, please just keep stoking, or whatever it is you’re doing,’ I pleaded, ‘and don’t do anything else dangerous.’

‘Right,’ he replied. ‘I’d better get rid of this lit cigarette, then…’

I was sucked right back to the bulkhead, cracking my head rather painfully. The glass visor of my helmet was torn away and whipped into the void of space. I was now upside-down and had to fight the porthole closed with my feet, losing one of my silver bootees to the great beyond in the process. I finally managed to stamp it shut. The suction ceased, and I crashed to the floor, again landing painfully on my head. I was getting quite cross with Troy.

‘Darn!’ he grimaced. ‘Nearly sucked my face off! There should be some sort of sticker!’

Just as I’d strapped myself back in again, the craft lurched and slowed at the apex of its path. Guuuurk buzzed in through the comms desk. ‘Levelling off into parking orbit. Estimated time of arrival at the mountain in three point five Earth minutes.’

Finally, I had a few brief moments in which to quiz the evasive Dr. Janussen about all the things she never had time to explain.

‘Um – Dr. Janussen… Gemma,’ I stammered. ‘We haven’t really had a chance to get to know each other yet…’

‘We already know each other, Brian,’ she replied stiffly. ‘You’ve just forgotten.’

‘I know. But – I just have this terrible foreboding that this mission may not end particularly…’ How could I put this so as not to alarm her feminine sensibilities? ‘…cleanly.’

‘Oh, we’re goners! Since no one has yet broken the X-barrier, much less survived it, I think there’s an astonishingly high probability we’ll be shredded into tiny pieces.’

I was amazed at her calm. ‘Really? You don’t think we’ll—’

‘Live? Oh no. It’s pure rationality.’

‘Well. Yes. Well. Exactly.’ I was somewhat nonplussed by her seeming indifference, but I ploughed on regardless. ‘And I’d hate to end up as Johnny-in-the-clouds without clearing up a couple of things. What was all that business about Big Ben? Why did we have to prevent Virginia reaching the clock before it struck?’

Dr. Janussen cast her eyes downwards. Her cool demeanour now seemed to be a little shaken. ‘I’d rather not talk about Virginia at the moment,’ she slowly replied.

‘Why not?’ I foolishly pursued.

‘Because it makes me feel… because…’

There was a sharp ratcheting sound and her ear revolved about twelve degrees anticlockwise.

From the journal of Brian Nylon, 1st January, 1952 – Iteration 66

‘Uh-oh,’ Troy said, rather indiscreetly.

Remembering Jenkins’ warning, I said very carefully: ‘Uhm, Dr. Janussen – your right ear seems to be rotating.’

It revolved further at that very moment.

‘ My ear?’ she suddenly exploded. ‘What’s my ear got to do with it, you half-witted lummox?’

‘You have to twist it, Brian!’ Troy hissed in a stage whisper.

‘Twist her ear?’

I reached my hand out towards her.

‘Don’t you touch my ear! We’ve just been forced to splatter one of our dearest friends all over Big Ben, and you’re talking about ears !’

‘You need to wind her back up now !’ Troy insisted.

With Dr. Janussen’s eyes burning pure fury at me, I lunged and twisted her ear clockwise. It made a satisfying ratchet sound, but was now upside down.

‘It needs three more turns!’ Troy hissed again.

‘Touch that again,’ she cautioned with that familiar terrifying calmness, ‘and I’ll punch you in the face.’

I twisted again.

She punched me in the face.

She was quite good at punching. But I had no choice: I had to carry on.

Twist. Punch!

Twist. Punch!

Finally, and at the cost of much pain, the ear was righted. Dr. Janussen’s expression unfroze slowly, as if she were waking from a dream.

‘Sorry,’ she smiled, ‘what were you saying?’

‘Good Lord! How often does that happen?’ I asked, dabbing my bleeding nose.

‘How often does what happen?’ She seemed genuinely oblivious.

Troy shook his head in a slow warning.

‘I see…’ I said slowly.

‘Brian!’ Dr. Janussen exclaimed with concern. ‘What the devil have you done to your face?’

‘Oh… it just… bleeds sometimes. And my teeth get loose.’

Dr. Janussen was about to pursue the point, when the comms desk burst into life again. This time it was Quanderhorn himself, slightly muffled at first, as if he were standing back from the microphone. ‘ Shalom , gentlemen. The Government will fully reimburse you for the beards.’

‘Oh good.’ Troy paused in his shovelling. ‘Pops is back!’

Quanderhorn came in at full volume. ‘Listen carefully, Nylon: as soon as the target’s in sight, press the green button, which will take you through the X-barrier.’

I nodded. ‘Roger – the green button takes us into the X-barrier.’

‘At that point the gravitational wave will be triggered and there’ll be almost unbearable G-force, whereupon our remote piloting controls will no longer work, so it’s vital you then press the red button to take you safely clear of the blast. Got that?’

‘Roger – then the red button to fire us out again to safety.’

Troy asked: ‘And the blue button?’

Dr. Janussen’s eyes flickered almost imperceptibly. ‘There is no blue button, Troy.’

There was a moment while Troy processed the information, then he suddenly panicked. ‘There is no blue button! There is no blue button!’ He raced around like a frantic blowfly trapped under a glass. ‘There is no blue button!’ He stopped flapping his arms around and began patting his pockets. ‘Where’s my cigarettes?’