When all libraries and archives and museums had been forcibly closed eighty years ago, their contents had been transferred to a single building twenty miles long, four wide and twelve storeys high. It had been promoted as a demonstration of how much the government cared about the cultural heritage of the world, while the real reason was to keep it under guard. It was said to contain every piece of paper, every book, every painting or print that still existed in what had been known as the British Isles. Almost no one wanted to go there, only a few renegades, and even they were now banned from the place. Many thought that keeping it was a waste of resources and wanted to burn the Depository to the ground. No doubt in due course that would happen. It would be easy to set a fire, blame it on terrorists and sweep them all up. There had been a proposal to do just that a few years ago; the plans had been laid out and Jack and his comrades had even been sent off for training in how to round up so many people quickly and efficiently. The internment camps were prepared, courts readied to give them mass trials and find them guilty.
It had all faded away, as the more cynical of his comrades said it would. Budget cuts and lack of interest, a game of politics won and lost. In the last few months, though, it had suddenly been revived; this time, some said, the authorities were serious.
25
Once both Chang and More had been dispatched, Hanslip walked slowly up to his private viewing platform, which gave him a clear panorama of his domain, and considered his options. Doing nothing and simply hoping for the best was not one of them. Sooner or later, the source of the power surge would be traced. There was also a certainty that, sooner or later, someone would start looking for Lucien Grange.
The four hundred acres of the institute stretching to the water’s edge; the tower blocks of accommodation where his employees lived entirely protected from the outside world; the antennae on top of the bare, useless mountains which monitored everything that approached in case of attack; the missile sites to guard against anything unauthorised that might come near. All belonged to him. Nothing so grand, he thought. Not like some other places he had visited.
The island of Mull was exile, pure and simple, but being out of the way has its uses. He was a lesser baron of scientific research and now he had his own fortress. He had spent the last fifteen years building this place and the last five hiding what it was doing from the outside world. He would never be Newton or Einstein. He might, though, be the person under whom such a figure flourished. Besides, it wasn’t Einstein who built the bomb.
For years he had schemed and manoeuvred: taking Angela when Oldmanter decided the experiment to enhance her abilities had rendered her useless; providing a safe environment for her to work, finding the money and the people. He was nearly there, had almost got to the point where he had a technology so powerful that he could command whatever resources he needed. With it would come power as well; a place on the World Council, the supreme body of technocrats and scientists which exercised authority over the entire globe. It would be his by right, if he delivered this opportunity to a society which needed it so badly. He might even challenge Oldmanter himself; the old man’s day was done, and it was time his power was transferred to someone with new ideas.
Then a programme of colonisation, moving the world’s surplus population to universes cleared of inhabitants. There would be no limit on expansion or on resources. He did not know yet how to do this; initially, he had thought of finding worlds sufficiently distant that they were uninhabited, but this had proven difficult; so far they had managed to access only one world, and he was hoping that Angela would come up with both an explanation and a solution. In the meantime, he had considered accessing a world so far in the past that humanity had not yet developed, but going back two hundred thousand years presented its own problems because of the amount of energy required.
That was why he had contacted Emily Strang. He knew nothing of history, and he had persuaded her to teach him. He had kept it secret, as he had no desire to have any public connection to a renegade, but had found the encounters useful.
They would talk for an hour or two every month and she was deliberately provocative, asking him questions designed to make him argue rather than simply state conclusions.
‘Why should the world be organised efficiently as a first priority?’
‘If the government of the world is so benevolent, why does it need such vast armies to keep people under control?’
‘What do you mean by a happy life, anyway? Merely more goods and services?’
‘Why do you think this society will last for ever? I can tell you of many that have destroyed themselves through their own violence. For example...’
She had even written a paper for him on the subject. Total extinction would require possession of the means of destruction and the willingness to use them. The best examples were the various crises which erupted during the Cold War, when the United States and the Soviet Union challenged each other with nuclear weapons. At any stage, an accident or a misinterpreted piece of evidence could have set off a chain reaction of consequences.
Hanslip had been sufficiently intrigued to run his own checks. He had ordered a computer simulation to see whether or not what Emily said was true. The world had indeed come close to disaster but the simulation suggested that tipping it over the edge would not have been easy. Change events, and very rapidly history returns to its proper path. It would take a very large shift indeed to significantly alter the course of history.
The more he thought about it, the more he was repelled by the very idea. Even if not strictly aimed at real people, it involved a level of violence that he could not readily contemplate. There was, he was sure, a better way which would turn up in due course, one which did not involve wholesale destruction. He rejected the concept as both unworthy and impractical, and stowed her report and his thoughts away.
It had been a fascinating period of speculation, but now it was over. Angela had ruined it. Hanslip had tried desperately to keep her focused, but to no avail. He had tried to dismiss her concerns, but knew her too well to do so without reservation. Then Jack More had mentioned that Chang hadn’t been worried, almost as if he knew the machine worked. It concerned him. He needed to check all the possibilities.
It took over a day before he found what he was afraid of. Every scrap of paper in Angela’s room, every piece of data that remained on the computers — not much, as she had done a good job of erasing it — was brought to his office, and Hanslip settled down to read through every last syllable. It was a measure of his thoroughness that he noticed the sliver of information when he read it, for it consisted only of four names, with a tick beside one of them. Gunter. That was all.
It meant nothing until he checked the lists of employees. First the scientists, then the administrators, then the support staff and finally everyone else who came and went. The only reference he could find to anyone called Gunter was to a cleaner who had walked off the job some six months ago. Curiously, the records suggested he had vanished while on the island; there was a flaw in the security system so that his last journey from Mull back to the mainland hadn’t been logged. This had caused — Hanslip now remembered — an enquiry into the monitoring systems, which had revealed no errors or malfunctions.
Now here was a piece of paper in Angela’s room with his name on it. It took six hours of interviews to get to the bottom of it, and by the end Hanslip was exhausted, worried and deeply angry.