Stark said, “He used materials and equipment from our lab to build a small-scale particle accelerator. When it was turned on, not only did it destroy a considerable portion of the lab and the surrounding rooms—”
“And you have a check that will make it even better than it was.”
“—that device also knocked out the power in the entire school.”
Bell’s mouth twitched. “What?”
“Oh yes. There was some kind of power surge that canceled out all power. No lights, no computers, no alarms. It even shorted out the halon fire-suppression system and knocked out the cell phones. We couldn’t call the fire department.”
Bell leaned forward. “Really? How long did it last?”
“What does that matter?”
“How long?”
“I don’t know,” said Stark, annoyed. “A minute or two.”
“How much damage was there to the wiring? What about cell phones? Were the works melted?”
“No, nothing else was damaged. The cell phones and everything came back on. So did the lights, but—”
“Everything came back on?” demanded Bell. “This is important. Apart from what was damaged by the explosion, was there any other damage to any electrical device?”
Stark drummed his fingers. “We seem to be getting off the point.”
“No, we’re not. Answer my questions.” Oscar Bell’s tone did not invite further quibbling.
“No, sir,” said Stark, “there was no other damage. You are not liable for further reparations.”
Stark grabbed his checkbook anyway and began writing a third check. This one was large enough to make the commandant stare in slack-jawed amazement. Bell tore it off, leaned across the desk, and slapped it down in front of Stark.
“I–I don’t understand, Mr. Bell,” stammered the commandant.
Bell pointed a finger at the man’s face. “Listen to me,” he said sternly, “and hear what I say. You are going to rebuild your lab and you’re going to get it done in one month. I don’t want to hear any bullshit about how difficult that’s going to be. One month. I’ll send some of my own people to oversee it. You will also build an extension that will be dedicated to my son and his work. You hear me? That addition will be Prospero’s. You’ll post two guards on it around the clock. If anyone sets one foot into his lab other than Prospero, his teachers, or you, then you will answer to me. I want you to tell me you understand.”
“I… well, yes. Of course I understand.”
“I will have my people set up a limited Internet access for Prospero. It will allow him to do research and to interface with other labs. I’ll arrange clearances. But understand, Stark, that Net connection passes through my own company’s mainframes. Nowhere else. And Prospero will have to log on and log off. I will give him a password directly. No one else uses that network and Prospero is not to have any access to any other Internet connection. None. That is an absolute rule.”
“What is this all about? If you want your son to do research of this kind, why not move him to another facility? Away from the other boys.”
“Fuck the other boys. And fuck you if you’re too stupid or inept to keep them away from that lab. Prospero is to have anything he needs or wants in terms of what will help him in this research.”
Stark nodded. The check sat on his desk and it seemed to burn with real fire.
Bell leaned back. “I’ll expect regular reports on my son’s activities. I’ll also send people out to inspect his lab and his work. They’ll call ahead to schedule times when Prospero won’t be there to interfere.”
“Of course.”
“If you have questions, ask them now,” said Bell. “Otherwise let’s get this in motion.”
“There are, um… two things, Mr. Bell,” said Stark. “The first is so unusual that I don’t know if I should even mention it, but you’ve made it very clear since the beginning that you want to know everything concerning your son. However, this is somewhat tangential to—”
“Stop pussying around the topic and just say it.”
“It’s about the dreams, sir,” said Stark.
Bell stopped breathing for a moment. “What dreams?”
“It was the night of the explosion. Several of the boys complained the next day that they had very strange dreams. We had the staff psychologist interview them and as far as he can determine there were two very distinct types of dreams. Or, maybe they were hallucinations somehow induced by the energetic discharge of the machine.”
“Who are you quoting?” Bell said sharply.
“Oh. About the discharge? That was Professor Childers, Prospero’s physics teacher. After hearing from all those boys I called a meeting with our psychologist and everyone who had any connection to what your son was working on.”
“Tell me about the dreams.”
“As I said, they took two forms. For most of the boys they had nightmares about some huge monsters. Big blobby things with tentacles. The psychologist has drawings if you want to see them. What’s so strange about it, though, is that the boys mostly drew the same thing. Even boys who don’t socialize with one another. We did interviews to see if they shared experiences, and to determine if that polluted the memories through association. But… no.”
Bell did not comment. “And the other kind of dream?”
“That’s even stranger. A few boys had those. Only six of them out of the whole school. And though the dreams were similar, they were also different. In each case the boys dreamed they were somewhere else. In other places. One was at home in his room. Another was in a poker game in what he believes is Paris, although the boy has never been to France.” He ran through the others. “In each case,” he concluded, “it was like they were suddenly elsewhere, seeing things they could not possibly see. One of them was able to accurately describe the inside of the Tate Museum in London, even to a description of the ticket seller. The psychologist made a call and verified the accuracy of this. Isn’t that the strangest thing you ever heard?”
Oscar Bell removed a pack of cigarettes from his inner pocket, selected one, lit it with a lighter that bore the Department of Defense shield — a Christmas gift from years ago — and smoked. He did not ask permission and he tapped his ashes into a coffee cup that sat beside the NO SMOKING sign. Stark said nothing.
“I’ll want everything,” said Bell. “Copies of those interviews, the files on each boy, the minutes of that staff meeting.”
“But, Mr. Stark, I can’t do that. That is confidential information.”
Bell blew a long stream of smoke over Stark’s head. “You always struck me as a realist,” Bell said. “Do you want to sit there and tell me that in the version of the ‘real world’ as you see it that I won’t get that information? Or let me put it another way. You’re a career soldier. An officer. You’ve been in combat and led men into battle. Has none of that taught you how to pick your battles?”
Stark sat in silent stillness. He did not answer, and they both knew it was answer enough.
After a long time Stark changed the subject. “I have one more, er, question regarding your son,” he said. “Prospero is sometimes a difficult boy, as you are no doubt aware. He, um, acts out, and here at Ballard we have policies in place to enforce discipline and encourage proper behavior.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, don’t be such a pussy. I’m not asking you to change how you treat the little shit. As long as he doesn’t have bruises on his face when the human services people come for their quarterly inspection I don’t give a flying fuck what you do to keep him in line. He’s always been an asshole and I have the feeling he always will be. Can’t change that. Kid has some bad wiring. So, sure, if you need to kick his ass every now and then, do it. Spare the rod and spoil the child. My old man had a heavy enough hand and I turned out fine.” He jabbed the air with a finger again. “But no head injuries. And nothing that will keep him out of the lab.”