David Mitchell - Cloud Atlas

Static. “Copy that, Joe. I’m escorting a visitor to the lecture theater.”

“Report to Security when you’re through, please.”

Static. “Copy. Over and out.”

Napier weighs the set in his hand. And Joe Napier? Has his conscience got an off switch? He sips his bitter black coffee. Hey, buddy, get off my case. I’m only following orders. Eighteen months till I retire, then it’s off to fish in sweet rushing rivers until I turn into a goddamn heron .

Milly, his deceased wife, watches her husband from the photograph on his console desk.

11

“Our great nation suffers from a debilitating addiction.” Alberto Grimaldi, Seaboard CEO and Newsweek Man of the Year, is king of the dramatic pause. “Its name is Oil.” He is gilded by the podium lights. “Geologists tell us, just seventy-four billion gallons of this Jurassic ocean scum remain in the Persian Gulf. Enough, maybe, to see out our century? Probably not. The most imperative question facing the USA, ladies and gentlemen, is ‘Then what?’ ”

Alberto Grimaldi scans his audience. In the palm of my hand . “Some bury their heads in the sand. Some fantasize about wind turbines, reservoirs, and”—wry half smile—”pig gas.” Appreciative chuckle. “At Seaboard we deal in realities.” Voice up. “I am here today to tell you that the cure for oil is right here, right now, on Swannekke Island!”

He smiles as the cheers subside. “As of today, domestic, abundant, and safe atomic energy has come of age! Friends, I am so very, very proud to present one of the major engineering innovations in history … the HYDRA-Zero reactor!” The slide screen changes to show a cross-section diagram, and a primed section of the audience applauds wildly, prompting most of the theater to follow suit.

“But hey, now, enough of me, I’m only the CEO.” Affectionate laughter. “Here to unveil our viewing gallery and flick that switch to connect Swannekke B to the national grid, the Seaboard family is deeply honored to welcome a very special visitor. Known on Capitol Hill as the president’s ‘Energy Guru’ “—full smile—”it gives me profound pleasure to welcome a man who needs no introduction. Federal Power Commissioner Lloyd Hooks!”

An immaculately groomed man strides onstage to great applause. Lloyd Hooks and Alberto Grimaldi grasp each other’s forearms in a gesture of fraternal love and trust. “Your scriptwriters are getting better,” Lloyd Hooks murmurs, as both men grin broadly for the audience, “but you’re still Greed on Two Legs.”

Alberto Grimaldi backslaps Lloyd Hooks and replies in kind, “You’ll only wrangle your way onto this company’s board over my dead body, you venal sonofabitch!”

Lloyd Hooks beams out at the audience. “So you can still come up with creative solutions, Alberto.”

A cannonade of flashes opens fire.

A young woman in a blueberry jacket slips out of a rear exit.

12

“The ladies’ restroom, please?”

A guard speaking on his walkie-talkie waves her down a corridor.

Luisa Rey glances back. The guard’s back is turned, so she continues on around a corner and into a grid of repeated corridors, chilled and muffled by humming air coolers. She passes a pair of hurrying technicians in overalls who eye her breasts from under their caps but who do not challenge her. Doors bear cryptic signs. W212 DEMI-OUTLETS, Y009 SUBPASSES [AC], V770 HAZARDLESS [EXEMPTED]. Periodic higher-security doors have keypad entry systems. At a stairwell she examines a floor plan but finds no trace of any Sixsmith.

“You lost, lady?”

Luisa does her best to recover her poise. A silver-haired black janitor stares at her.

“Yes, I’m looking for Dr. Sixsmith’s room.”

“Uh-huh. English guy. Third floor, C105.”

“Thank you.”

“He ain’t been around a week or two.”

“Is that a fact? Can you tell me why?”

“Uh-huh. Went to Vegas on vacation.”

“Dr. Sixsmith? Vegas?”

“Uh-huh. So I was told.”

Room C105’s door is ajar. A recent attempt to erase “Dr. Sixsmith” from the nameplate ended in messy failure. Through the crack Luisa Rey watches a young man sitting on the table, sifting through a pile of a notebooks. The contents of the room are in several shipping crates. Luisa remembers her father saying, Acting like an insider can be enough to be one .

“Well,” says Luisa, strolling in. “ You ’re not Dr. Sixsmith, are you?”

The man drops the notebook guiltily, and Luisa knows she’s bought a few moments. “Oh, my God”—he stares back—”you must be Megan.”

Why be contradictory? “And you are?”

“Isaac Sachs. Engineer.” He gets to his feet and aborts a premature handshake. “I worked with your uncle on his report.” Brisk footsteps echo up the stairwell. Isaac Sachs closes the door. His voice is low and nervy: “Where’s Rufus hiding, Megan? I’ve been worried sick. Have you heard from him?”

“I was hoping you could tell me what’s happened.”

Fay Li strides in with the unimpressed security man. “Luisa. Still looking for the ladies’ room?”

Act stupid . “No. I’m all finished with the ladies’ room—it was spotlessly clean—but I’m late for my appointment with Dr. Sixsmith. Only … well, it seems he’s moved out.”

Isaac Sachs makes a “hah?” noise. “You’re not Sixsmith’s niece?”

“Excuse me, but I never said I was.” Luisa produces a pre-prepared gray lie for Fay Li. “I met Dr. Sixsmith on Nantucket last spring. We found we were both based in Buenas Yerbas, so he gave me his card. I dug it out three weeks ago, called him up, and we arranged to meet today to discuss a science feature for Spyglass.” She consults her watch. “Ten minutes ago. The launch speeches went on longer than I’d expected, so I slipped quietly away. I hope I haven’t caused any trouble?”

Fay Li acts convinced. “We can’t have unauthorized people wandering around a sensitive research institute like ours.”

Luisa acts contrite. “I thought signing in and having my bag checked was the security procedure, but I guess that was naïve. Dr. Sixsmith will vouch for me, though. Just ask him.”

Sachs and the guard both glance at Fay Li, who does not miss a beat. “That isn’t going to be possible. One of our Canadian projects needed Dr. Sixsmith’s attention. I can only imagine his secretary didn’t have your contact details when she cleared his appointments diary.”

Luisa looks at the boxes. “Looks like he’s going to be away for a while.”

“Yes, so we’re shipping him his resources. His consultancy here at Swannekke was winding up. Dr. Sachs here has done a gallant job of tying up the loose ends.”

“So much for my first interview with a great scientist.”

Fay Li holds the door open. “Maybe we can find you another.”

13

“Operator?” Rufus Sixsmith cradles the receiver in an anonymous suburban motel outside Buenas Yerbas. “I’m having trouble placing a call to Hawaii … yes. I’m trying to call …” He reads out Megan’s telephone number. “Yes, I’ll stay by the phone.”

On a TV with no yellow or green, Lloyd Hooks backslaps Alberto Grimaldi at the inauguration of the new HYDRA reactor at Swannekke Island. They salute the lecture theater like conquering sportsmen, and silver confetti falls from the roof. “No stranger to controversy,” says a reporter, “Seaboard CEO Alberto Grimaldi today announced the go-ahead of Swannekke C. Fifty million federal dollars will be poured into the second HYDRA-Zero reactor, and thousands of new jobs will be created. Fears that the mass arrests seen earlier this summer at Three Mile Island would be repeated in the Golden State did not materialize.”