Lester stood, upright and uneasy, on the balcony outside his office and looked down at the assembled company. Abby, Jenny and Connor, all of whom had at least attempted to dress appropriately, were standing to one side, waiting for him to join them for the drive to Stephen's funeral. Every man and woman, civilian and soldier, who worked for the ARC was gathered below, even those who were on leave or off-shift. His eyes met those of Captain Ross, who had lost no time in putting in his transfer request, and had arrived this very morning, along with a list of men transferring with him. At least that was one good thing to have come out of this debacle.
No Cutter, though. He would, undoubtedly, be at the funeral, but his absence here told its own story.
Perhaps he expected too much from Cutter. Not that he had expected to find him alive at all when, less than a week ago, he had reacted to Jenny's phone call...
Watching the Merlin HC3 helicopter carefully lower itself into the ARC carpark, while another circled overhead, Lester tucked the Heckler and Koch more firmly under his arm. If he was lucky, he might be able to use it to vent the anger building inside him; he had never suspected Leek, being too busy keeping Cutter in check. Both were relationships he had mishandled from the start.
Blasted over-ambitious underhand Civil Servants. And bloody awkward academics.
Which did not make this any less his fault.
He wondered if Cutter had believed he wanted him dead.
James, don't do that. I'm not important.
Had that been to catch his attention, or because the other man had suddenly realised, as he had, that they were both on the same side?
He might never have a chance to find out.
Well, whether that was the case or not, he was through messing around. This was no longer a scientific mystery but a full blown crisis. It was what he had told the Prime Minister, just minutes ago, was also why the SAS were arriving in force, diverted from an anti-terrorist operation at Heathrow. He only hoped that their absence there wouldn't make a difference, but it was really a question of which was the greater risk.
Instinctively ducking, though the rotors were flashing far above his head, Lester ran for the door, where he was hauled on board by a sandy haired man in battle dress, who said, "I'm Captain Ross. I understand I'm to take my orders from you, Sir James." Though his voice was polite enough, he was looking very hard at the gun, no doubt comparing it with the Saville Row pinstripes and hand-made shoes.
Lester loathed the use of his title, with its strange mixture of deference and familiarity, but now wasn't the time to argue the point. "Yes. Get us out of here and to this location." He handed over Lorraine's marked-up map in blind faith. Ross leaned forward to transfer it to one of the RAF crew as the helicopter shot upwards. Bracing himself against the vibrating side of the chopper, Lester looked back at the cabin. Twenty pairs of eyes stared back at him curiously from under battle armour. Refusing to be intimidated, he raised his voice above the hellish din of the engines: "Can you patch me through to the troops on the other helicopter. You all need to hear this."
"Take this," one of the RAF crew said, handing him a microphone. "Switch is here. Give me ten seconds..."
Lester counted them down in his head, took a deep breath, and began. "We're going into a building where there may be human enemies, but they'll be the least dangerous thing you'll be facing. I can't tell you what those other things are or where they came from, but I can tell you they are many times stronger and faster than you are. They also have a built in sonar that's better than our eyesight – and they regard us as food. Only hours ago I emptied a full load of ammunition into one of them and it still kept coming. That's why you've been instructed to bring the heaviest arms you can find. Play dirty – these things will. And watch each other's backs. These creatures must not leave the building, even if we don't come out alive. They must not leave the building. God knows, this is a cliché, but don't shoot any humans not wearing black. I have a man in there who may still be alive."
They probably didn't believe him of course, but they had, at least, been warned, and now a flight of Apache attack helicopters was approaching from the South. It made him feel a little easier. If one of the creatures did escape from the building there was still a chance they might stop it before it killed again.
"We're in luck," the pilot announced as he circled down over a brick-built two-storey industrial building, then dropped sharply towards a large and empty car park.
Lester could see people waving below him. That white-blond head could only belong to Abby. Even before the helicopter landed, they were running towards it.
When Ross paused for breath in the midst of giving orders involving searching the outer site, finding all exits and entrances and setting up a guarded radar and infra-red perimeter, Lester took the opportunity to interpose, with a nod of the head towards his people. "You may need to hear what they have to say."
The only acknowledgment he got was Ross's next bark: "Squad leaders, with me and Sir James," but that was good enough.
The group that met them was headed by a far-from-immaculate Jenny, who was clutching an automatic rifle with the air of someone who actually knew how to use it. Connor was beside her, along with an unknown but pretty young woman, who looked scared to death. Abby lurked behind. She was cradling something green – apparently a lizard or a small dinosaur – in her arms.
"Who's that?" he asked, staring at the stranger.
"Oh...er... that's Caroline," Connor said brightly. "She's okay. She–"
"Was hired by Leek." Jenny overrode him ruthlessly. "But she doesn't seem to have realised what she was doing or why, and she did help us out of that death trap. Cutter's still in there, James – and Leek and Helen."
"Don't worry about Leek, he's dead. There are at least a dozen of his... his little pets... out of control, though. How much of the place did you see? Can you give us an idea of the layout?"
"Most of it's below ground. We saw a couple of rooms they were using as cells, and two huge ones over thirty feet high where they were holding the creatures. Otherwise it's a maze of industrial spaces, corridors and rooms."
"Yeah," said Connor. "We'd never have got out of there if Rex hadn't found the ventilation shaft."
"Rex?" Lester peered round Connor at Abby, who met his eyes defiantly. "Good Lord, it's the same creature that boy found–"
"I'll take you inside," Jenny said, interrupting.
"No, I want you to get started on limiting the PR damage. And take Miss... Miss... er... Caroline with you. Connor, the soldiers are setting up infra-red sensors and radar on the perimeter. They need your expertise and knowledge of the... enemy. Abby can show me the way you came out. Oh, and Jenny, get back to that payphone you used and try to ring Stephen, if you've got his mobile number. I keep getting, 'This number is currently unavailable.'"
For once, Abby had made no complaint about being left behind at the top of the ventilation shaft, which was lucky, because the SAS had been disinclined to be hampered by any civilians. None of them, though, had the authority to stop Lester following in the rear. He shouldn't be doing this, of course, but there was always the hope that he might manage to shoot Helen Cutter by accident.
The building was dark. Light dropped down the shaft and pooled at the bottom, so you could at least see where to put your hands and feet on the ladder. By the time he was at its foot, most of the SAS troopers had disappeared into the dimness.
"We're going up, as soon as we find the stairs," Ross told him. "Keep up with us, Sir James and don't kill any of us with that gun you're carrying. In fact, leave all the shooting to us."
It was not surprising that Jenny and the others had found getting out so difficult. The lighting was dim, sometimes diffused by leaking steam, and there were too many spaces in which someone or something might hide. Each had to be checked, under the cover of half a dozen sub-machine guns, though they found no-one alive.
At last they came to a room with a metal stairway leading upwards. At the top was a corridor, with a single heavy door at its end. Lester was held back by a strong arm across his chest as the guns centred on it. One man slammed a hand down on the green button and threw himself back.
Beyond lay a room lit by computer screens, silhouetted against a distant wall bathed in brightness. Walking past the computers, they came out onto a balcony above a circular room, maybe fifty feet across, and below –
Below was carnage.
Under a completely meaningless open maze of yellow frames, a raptor and a gorgonopsid quarrelled over a mass of blood and bone, while a sabre-tooth was lying to one side, gnawing on what, sickeningly, looked like human leg. The floor was pooled with scarlet. Unidentifiable dismembered bodies lay scattered in every corner, including something that looked like a massive seal beached in the blood-tide. A bulky creature, vaguely resembling a reptilian rhino – Permian? a scutosaurus, was it? – its body raked with claw marks, cowered – there was no other word for it – besides a battered door.
He was too late.
"What the fucking –" Ross was beside him.
"Kill them," Lester ordered.
Even as the guns came to bear, he realised what was missing from the scene below, and glanced up to the shadowed roof.
Raising his almost-forgotten gun, he sprayed fire towards the future predators lurking there. "Out!" he shouted, whirling and plunging towards the door himself. "Get out! Now!"
He heard the guns chatter behind him, overlapping the area in covering fire. Then he was out, skidding to his knees. By the time he had turned, the door was closed, shuddering as something very strong and heavy hit the other side. Ross was already shouting into his command microphone, ordering the chamber sealed, and talking to the aircraft above.
"What the hell were those things?" someone demanded.
"Your enemy. That's all you need to know."
"They were waiting for us," Ross observed.
"Yes. They're bright. That's why they weren't feeding with the other beasts."
The door shuddered again.
Ross said, "Tiny, take your squad and reinforce this door. Set the explosives. If anything does get through, it dies or you do.
He paused, with an air of listening. Then he said, "Sir James, my men have found someone alive. Squad Gamma will go with you."
He did not know what he had been expecting. It had certainly not been four soldiers standing with their guns pointed at a man slumped against a doorway, his head in his hands, apparently oblivious to their presence.
It was Cutter.
Lester was astonished at his own relief. He said, "He's one of ours."
Cutter lifted his head, and Lester saw, to his horror and embarrassment, that the other man's cheeks were shiny with tears. After one glance through the porthole window, which confirmed his suspicion that the beasts lay beyond, he squatted besides Cutter, ignoring the soldiers as they checked the place out. He didn't even notice when they moved on, leaving the squad who had arrived with him behind. Instead, he put a hand on the other man's shoulder, half-expecting it to be knocked away.
"Are you all right?" he asked, inanely.
Cutter closed his eyes and nodded, but the misery was vivid on his face.
"You don't look it."
"How the hell do you expect me to look? I've just–" He pulled himself up, opening his eyes to meet Lester's. "What about the others? Abby? Connor? Jenny?"
"They're safe, along with a flying lizard you were supposed to take back to the Permian over a year ago and a security problem I hope Jenny is dealing with."
"Oh, thank God. No sign of Helen, I suppose?"
"No. What's more, we've been unable to get in touch with Stephen after he dealt with a pressing scorpion problem."
Cutter flinched, turning his face away. "You won't. He's dead."
"Dead?" Lester asked, stupidly.
"What do you think those blasted creatures are eating?"
The pain in his voice was so dreadful it shocked Lester into silence, and he squatted for a while, his hand still on Cutter's shoulder, trying to find words. As it happened, Cutter found them first. "The door had to be sealed. From the other side. Stupid, heroic, romantic fool."
A small voice inside Lester's head was telling him that if he tried sympathy Cutter would break down completely. "How did he get here? We couldn't reach his mobile."
Cutter's expression was suddenly shuttered.
He's going to lie, Lester thought. Why?
"I don't know. He had some insane theory that you were running this madhouse..."
"Yes. I gathered he wasn't a member of my fan club, any more than you were," Lester said dryly. "I suppose I ought to be flattered. That doesn't explain how he knew about this place, though."
The pause lasted a while, then Cutter said, in such a quiet voice that Lester had to strain to hear him. "He said Helen told him I was dead. She must have called him... lured him here."
There was plainly more to the story than that, but he didn't think Cutter was actually lying this time. They'd get to the bottom of it later, if it was important. Meanwhile, he'd better get Cutter out of here. "How are you feeling? Can you-?"
"How do you think I feel? I've just seen my best friend torn apart and eaten."
"Nick!" He said it sharply, hoping surprise alone would quell any incipient hysteria. He didn't want to have to slap him; Cutter's face was blood smeared and bruised already. "How are you physically? Can you walk?"
"Sorry. I'm okay." Cutter made an attempt to haul himself to his feet, swayed before he was at full height, and sat down hurriedly again.
"Yes, I can see you're just fine." Lester swung round. "We need a medic here!"
Cutter waved a hand in protest. "Dizzy. Stood up too fast."
However, one of the troopers had peeled off, and was kneeling besides Cutter. Without any need to ask for permission and immune to Cutter's protests, his examination was swift.
"Looks like mild concussion as well as shock," he remarked to Lester. Then, speaking slowly and clearly, to Cutter: "Did you hit your head, sir?"
Cutter blinked at him. "Hit?" He fingered his chin. "Oh yeah. Stephen knocked me down but I didn't pass out. Oh, wait. Earlier. Yeah, I remember. One of Leek's thugs... gun butt, I think. So that's why my head hurts."
"Get him out of here, into hospital, and keep him guarded," Lester ordered.
"Yes, sir."
"That's better," Lester said to himself, standing back and letting himself enjoy watching other people having to deal with Cutter for a change. "I think I may just keep these people around."
The SAS squad conveyed Cutter to the surface with efficiency, though they had difficulty with a combination of his protests and the ladders. Lester followed. Once outside, they found all the helicopters in the air, but a car, presumably Leek's, was drawn up outside, its engine running. Plainly, SAS skills included the hot wiring of any vehicle in the immediate vicinity. Cutter, dazed and, therefore, abnormally quiet, was deposited in the rear seat, and the SAS medic slipped in beside the driver.
Out of the corner of his eye, Lester could see Jenny and Caroline approaching from one direction, and Connor and Abby from the other. Meanwhile, SAS squads were exiting the building, via both the ventilation shaft and the office doors. They seemed to be in something of a hurry.
Then the wall of the office building burst open in a scatter of bricks and a scutosaurus, bellowing with pain and covered in blood, charged out into the car park, a future predator clinging to its back like a jockey. Even as the SAS opened fire, the helicopters swung about in a death dance, bringing their guns to bear.
Lester slapped the top of the car. "Hospital! Now!" As it took off in a squeal of tyres, he saw Cutter's outraged expression through the rear window.
Before a shot was fired, the future predator catapulted itself upwards, catching a hold on the front wheel of a hovering Apache, which shot upwards, weaving from side to side as the pilot attempted to throw the beast off.
It did not seem to bother the future-predator, which began to climb, hand over hand, upwards and sideways, apparently aiming for the cabin above.
How intelligent was the damn thing anyway?
The Apache was spinning on its axis, still trying to shake the creature free from the fuselage. The second attack helicopter hovered alongside, attempting to bring its guns to bear.
"Fire, damn you," Lester muttered, knowing, even as he said it, that it was asking too much. The pilots could not know the extent of the danger the very existence of the creature posed to the human race... and any fire would bring the helicopter down.
The creature moved upwards, clambering out from under the fuselage.
Lester held his breath.
It had moved level with the armament platform.
Instantly, the guns chattered, tearing the creature's arm from its body.
It hung on for a moment with the other hand, but shock and loss of blood must have taken immediate toll, for suddenly it was falling, spinning down in a spiral that ended as it crashed through the roof of the building.
Ross looked to Lester, who gave a single, emphatic nod.
"Go!" Ross yelled, "Go, go, go!" as Lester herded Jenny, Caroline and Connor away from the building.
One of the SAS men had grabbed Abby's arm and was hustling her away from where the scutosaurus wallowed in a pool of its own blood.
All of them heard the clatter of engines as the Apache flight converged on the buildings at zero feet, and the unmistakable thunder of the missiles firing. The multiple blasts that followed set them staggering, already half blinded by the reflected light, and deafened by a roar louder than a whole herd of dinosaurs. The ground heaved and buckled. Lester glanced back and, through the after-images, saw the buildings glow red, bulge, then collapse in on themselves, and on downwards, into the underground rooms. Black smoke shot with fire rose in clouds into the sky.
"How long before your men can go back in?" Lester asked Ross, yelling because he could not, currently, hear very much at all.
"Hours, in protective gear," Ross bellowed back. "Nothing's going to have survived that, though."
"Don't chance your lives on it," Lester was moderating his tone as his hearing returned. "Scan with the infra-red as soon as the building cools down, and, if you have to, use heat-seeking missiles to get the last of the bastards."
"Believe me," Ross said, "we aren't going to be taking any chances. What were those things?"
"Right now, I can't tell you, but this is a continuing fight, Captain. We've taken a lot of casualties over the last year."
"I see." There was a gleam in Ross's eye.
It cheered Lester. Maybe he would get to keep some of them after all.
As Ross left, the remaining members of Cutter's team, plus Caroline, arrived, bounding up with worried faces like a pack of beagle puppies. "Cutter's gone to the hospital with concussion," he told them. "He needs to sleep it off. Helen's – missing. As usual." He couldn't tell them about Stephen yet, not when he didn't really know the facts himself. Get them doing something useful, instead. "Jenny, this is a PR mess so I'm expecting a miracle. Make sure you give me one, starting with this... young lady. Connor, there's a computer waiting for you at the ARC with what I am told is an enormous amount of data from Leek's own systems, but you'd know more about how it came to arrive than I would. Abby..." He had to fight to keep his face from softening as he looked at Abby. His eldest would be like her in ten years time. He hoped. "Oh, take that... that creature away and look after it. And I haven't seen it."
Abby's smile was like sunshine. Before he could stop her, she stood on tip toe and kissed him quickly on the cheek. "You're not so bad."
Jenny lingered after Connor and Abby had gone, though she had a hand on Caroline's arm. "James, I need to talk to you. Soon. About some things Helen said to me."
"At the ARC. As soon as the situation is contained."
"Right. Come along, Caroline."
Cutter stared out of the window of the Lexus, plainly trying to avoid saying anything to Lester. He hadn't wanted to stay in the hospital overnight, a problem that had been solved by impounding his clothes and putting an SAS guard on his private room. What he was wearing now came from his locker at the ARC. He certainly hadn't wanted anyone to pick him up from the hospital to ferry him home, either, least of all Lester. Well, he was going to have to put up with it.
It was long past time they talked.
When they reached Cutter's house, Lester told the driver to wait, then followed so close on the Professor's heels that he was almost stepping on them.
As expected, as soon as Cutter opened the door, he threw himself inside, spinning in an attempt to close it before Lester followed. He failed, mainly because Lester blocked it with the metal briefcase he was carrying.
The house was being guarded, of course, though Cutter probably hadn't noticed – at least Lester hoped he hadn't, and also hoped that the glare aimed in his direction was only the result of his own intrusion. When it failed to work, Cutter turned on his heel and marched into the sitting room, Lester at his heels.
"Oh, come right in," Cutter growled, flinging himself into a chair. "My house is your house, obviously."
Ignoring him, Lester opened the briefcase and extracted a bottle of Glendullan, another of still Strathmore water, and two glasses. He poured a generous amount of the whisky into each, and asked, "Water?"
Cutter shook his head. Lester handed him a glass, and diluted the whisky in his own, then made himself comfortable on the sofa. Watching Cutter slumped in his chair, Lester began to wonder if he was going to lose his field team leader as well as his best creature hunter. That was the top of his list of questions, but he waited now with unnatural patience. The trick was to get Cutter engaged and talking. The whisky would help, but that would take time too.
In the end, he won, and it was Cutter who broke the silence. "Have you told them?"
Lester didn't need to ask who or what. "Yes. What I knew: that Stephen was dead, and that he'd sacrificed himself to shut that door and keep those creatures locked in."
"How did they take it?"
"Abby cried. Which made Connor cry. My office is still awash."
"Which, no doubt, is why you're here. You're waiting for it to dry out?"
Lester took heart from the attempt at humour. "Of course. And because I've had a long conversation with Jenny, about a little talk she had with your wife... Damn it, Cutter, I thought she'd been officially declared dead. Is she still your wife or not?"
Cutter's eyes went wide in that dangerous way they had, then he shrugged. "Och, legally, probably not. But that was how I thought of her."
"Was?"
Cutter's face was as hard as stone. "Not any more. You want me to admit you were right about her all along? Okay, okay. I was wrong. You were right. Satisfied?"
"Did you and I have such a touchy relationship before things... changed?"
"Yes. Worse if-" Cutter did a theatrical double-take. "Changed?"
"You were there when Helen told Jenny how like and unlike Claudia Brown she was. Jenny told me. Suddenly, your story sounds a great deal less implausible. And the entire situation even more dangerous than it was before. So, if the past has been changed, why are the effects so small?"
"If that is the case, it may be because of conservation of energy. Time will bend but not break. It's like... elastic. It snaps back into the closest shape it can with the least changes."
"So why did this Claudia woman become Jenny?"
Cutter said nothing, his jaw set tight as he suddenly found the contents of his glass far more interesting than Lester's question.
Which didn't stop the other man from pressing his points home: "If the past couldn't be changed, all we had to worry about was monster incursions. You've been doing the fire-fighting on that. My job has been to hold you in check and keep a tight lid on the information, while our physicists tried to understand the reason for the anomalies, and a way of closing them. Oh, for God's sake, Cutter, you don't really think we were trusting you to figure it out, did you? It's not your field."
Cutter looked up, a hint of a smile on his face. "Have they figured it out?"
"No. They just keep telling me it's impossible. First of all that it's impossible that the past exists. Then that the anomalies themselves are impossible without the expenditure of more energy than the sun has given off in its entire existence. Then that the future cannot exist. Then that the past cannot be changed. I should have listened to the one who told me that we could never understand it, thereby proving the impossibility of something called the anthrocentric theory..." He took a breath. "At least you could tell me what the monsters were and where they came from – while you and Stephen were successful at containing the damage, you continued to be useful, so long as you didn't become a security risk. You also gave us a link to your wife, who certainly is one."
"You don't know the half of it. Helen's plans include some little experiments in changing both present and future. She wanted my help."
"And you refused." It wasn't a question, but Cutter nodded. "You weren't tempted at all?"
He got the the Professor's infamous glare in response. "Don't you understand the dangers? It happened once, and we got Leek instead of Claudia. The result is that all too many people are dead, including Stephen, and we came within a hairsbreadth of it being many, many more.. Thank you, by the way, for not giving an inch to Leek."
"You're not quite indispensable yet."
"Helen thinks the whole human race is dispensable."
As if he couldn't have guessed that. "I knew we should have locked that woman up and thrown away the key when we had the chance."
"I should have shot her when I had the chance," Cutter said, as a simple statement of fact. "When I get another, I will." He drained his glass and filled it again without asking permission.
Not if I see her first, Lester thought. Well, might as well find out where we stand. "Stephen's expertise is going to be hard to replace."
Cutter glared at him. "It can't be replaced," he said flatly.
"Why was he indispensable, if you aren't?"
Cutter half-rose in his chair, then gave Lester a painful smile, and sank back. "You're a total bastard, Lester."
"Undoubtedly. But the point I was making is that 'not indispensable' doesn't equate to 'we're happy to dispense with your services.' And I am not happy to dispense with Abby's or Connor's services, either, despite your texts to me last night. Who lent you the mobile, by the way?"
"They're not-"
"Not employed by you, but by the government. You chose them, but I pay their wages. You can't sack them – you're a consultant, on special leave from the CMU. You can go back any time you want. They don't have the same options. I asked them if they wanted to carry on, and they said yes. What about you?"
"Me?" Cutter laughed harshly. "I've already got a score of men killed by bad decisions. Claudia, who by the way, held Leek's place and was much more effective at it, has been transformed into Jenny, who – well, isn't Claudia, and I've seen... the deaths of friends... at least I was there for Ryan... but Stephen... Stephen – his family – they think he's in South America..."
"Jenny's dealing with it," Lester said absently, his mind elsewhere.
"He had some insane idea that you were running this madhouse."
"Why should I trust you?"
"Helen told him I was dead... she must have called him."
Stephen's mobile had been unavailable. But not to Helen.
With the memories, Lester finally understood. "He was working with Helen, wasn't he?"
"No!" Then, in response to Lester's raised eyebrows, "Not exactly. She told him we were being infiltrated, and he told me... he thought it was you. There wasn't any evidence, but Helen can be very persuasive. You've seen that – fallen for it yourself."
"I've seen how manipulative she can be. If you're in love with her."
"I'm not," Cutter protested. "Not any more."
"But Stephen was."
"Don't you understand?" It was a cry of pain. "He'd rejected Helen but I couldn't forgive him for never telling me – pushed him away – until it was too late. And he gave his life for me. Deliberately."
Lester rose to his feet. "We all have to make our own mistakes, Cutter. Stephen made his, not you. You can't take that away from him." He got that wide-eyed, dangerous stare again. "He redeemed his, in the end." He jerked his chin towards the whisky bottle. "That won't give you any answers, either, but it might help you sleep. You're on sick leave, by the way."
"From the ARC, or the CMU?"
Lester met his eyes. "That really is up to you, isn't it? Another of those hard decisions – and this is one I won't and can't make for you. Sleep well, Professor."
Lester's hands tightened involuntarily on the balcony rail. Damn it, he hated doing this. Though he had had no particular feeling for Stephen, except for an admiration of his skills, as head of the ARC he had to be the one to speak what would interpreted as a eulogy. A short one, he decided grimly. He said: "Stephen Hart was at the very centre of what the ARC stands for: protecting humanity. He was a scientist, and a tracker and hunter of the very highest ability. His courage was undoubted and indomitable. If it were not for his actions there would not be an ARC, and many of us would not be here today. For that we must honour him, but to many people here he was not just a colleague but also a good friend. He will be missed. For security reasons, only a few of us, those who worked most closely with him, can attend the funeral. So now let us all remember Stephen in a minute of silence, memory and pray–"
"May I say something?" It was Cutter, in a neat black suit and black tie, which matched the shadows under his eyes. He looked older, and sad.
Here comes the resignation speech, Lester thought. Just like him to make it in front of the entire staff so he can't retract it.
Cutter leaned forward on the balcony rail in a companionable manner. He glanced down at sheaf of paper in his hand – prepared notes, dammit – and said: "Today, they are going to bury my best friend. Or rather, they are going to bury a few charred pieces of bone and half a skull vaguely identified as human. We have lied to his family and everyone outside this room about where and when and how he died. That's tragic for so many reasons, not least because he lived and died a hero, and they will never know. And Stephen would have hated the lies. He believed that we should let everyone know what was happening, that we should talk to the press and open the secrets of the anomalies. It was a sincere belief, founded in idealism."
Dear God, Lester thought. He's told the press. I'll murder him. The PM will murder me, but I'll get Cutter first.
"It was also wrong." Cutter's eyes swept over the assembled company. "It took just one person to be tempted enough by what lies within the anomalies to nearly destroy us all. That person knew because he was one of us. But how many more are there like him out there? Spread the news to everyone and you not only cause panic, you increase the risk of another Oliver Leek a thousand fold. We can't afford to let our personal interests or ambitions affect how we act. God knows, I'm as guilty of this as anyone. I put my wife and my fascination with the creatures coming from the anomalies before the need for security. That cost Stephen his life. What I have learned is that what we do in the past may affect the present, and what we do in the present may affect the future. That future – the future of the human race – is in our hands. Stephen did his job. It's up to us to do ours, to focus on our task and act together, whatever the cost."
He folded his notes and put them away in total silence, looked at Lester, and said, "Shall we get on with it?"
"By all means, Professor. And welcome back aboard."
End