He studies the stopwatch in Bunsen’s hand. Nineteen seconds, twenty, twenty-one. He glances at Jacob and they exchange a nervous smile. Jacob’s been invaluable in the lab, eager to help and quick to learn. The shared experience has brought them close. Alvy likes having a friend, even if he is actually a work colleague. If the Swarm is a success a good part of the credit will go to Jacob. Bunsen, on the other hand, hasn’t been around that much and didn’t even pretend to understand the science of what Alvy was doing. He made up for that by not only building and paying for a state-of-the-art lab but providing all the equipment Alvy needed to complete the task. And it had cost a fortune — well over nineteen million dollars so far. Alvy once asked Bunsen where all the money came from. ‘Reruns,’ Bunsen said, but never elaborated.
Alvy looks at the stopwatch again. Twenty-eight seconds, twenty-nine.
Christ, the tension is unbearable.
It’s like waiting for the world’s most important kettle to boil. His eyes move back to the Hyundai. ‘Come-on-come-on-come-on.’ He doesn’t bother saying it under his breath this time. He hopes it will happen but fears it won’t. Hope and fear. Don’t those two words just sum up life? You hope for the best but fear the worst.
The Hyundai’s exhaust turns a light purple colour. Yes! It’s something Alvy expected, a key design feature of the Swarm that had taken him three months to perfect. It’s thrilling to see.
Bunsen turns to him with a smile. ‘Excellent.’
Actually, it’s more than excellent. It’s fuckin’ fantastic. Alvy returns the smile and glances at the stopwatch. Forty-four seconds. He looks back at the exhaust. The purple exhaust is darker now, and growing darker by the second.
The exhaust turns black.
It happens, just like that. It’s extraordinary, shocks Alvy even though he’s expecting it, has been working towards it for the better part of three years. It’s terrible and beautiful and sickening and inspiring all in the same moment. All the tension he’s been feeling is instantly released.
Bunsen turns to him with a wide grin. ‘Congratulations. You just changed the world.’
Alvy has done exactly what was asked of him and he’s done it two months faster than he said he would. The guy is even smarter than Bunsen realised.
Bunsen puts an arm around him, pulls him close. ‘You did it. You did it!’ Not wanting Jacob to feel left out, Bunsen hooks an arm around the assistant and pulls him into the huddle too. ‘You guys — you made something out of nothing. Something important. Something vital.’
Bunsen takes in their shining faces. They look so happy. He wants to remember this moment forever, the moment the mission became a reality, before the machinery cranks to life and everything changes, before he must be cruel to be kind and set Kilroy in motion, to do the things Kilroy does so well.
Alvy looks at Bunsen. ‘What now?’
‘Make a batch. Three thousand litres of the Swarm, three litres of the counteragent.’
‘Jeez. Okay. That’s — a lot.’
‘I want to impress them.’
‘Of course.’
‘How long will it take?’
‘If we start now? Fourteen, fifteen hours.’
‘All right then. I’ll make some calls, set up the demonstration for tomorrow afternoon.’
‘Excellent.’
‘Call me as soon as it’s done.’
‘Will do.’ Alvy nods and Bunsen moves off, then stops and turns back to him.
‘I’m proud of you.’ A little positive reinforcement always goes a long way with Alvy.
Alvy grins. ‘Thanks, man.’
Bunsen nods and keeps walking.
5
Houston Oilers cap on. Check.
Fifty-eight millimetre American Optical mirror-lensed aviator sunglasses on. Check.
Beats by Dr Dre Pro headphones on. Check.
Collar of navy blue Penguin polo shirt up. Check.
Judd Bell is first down the boarding ramp towards the United Boeing 787, the aircraft that will take him to Los Angeles on this fine day. He doesn’t want to get caught in line with the other passengers so he moves fast and stays ahead of the pack, his cap, oversized sunnies, enormous headphones and raised collar doing their best to make him incognito.
So far so good.
He steps into the plane and hands the flight attendant his boarding pass. He managed to reserve the seat he wanted. Not that it was difficult. Row 56, seat A is, arguably, the worst seat on the aircraft and in no demand at all. ‘Row 56, seat A. Right to the back.’ Judd takes the boarding pass from the nice lady before she has a chance to look at his face and walks on.
He moves quickly down the aisle. Ah, good old 56A. What would he do without it? It’s the only way he can fly domestic any more. It’s the last row on the left at the rear of the plane, against the window. It’s far back enough so none of the passengers will have to pass him to get to their seats, and it’s far enough from the rear toilets so none of the passengers will have to queue nearby when they visit the bathroom. Sure, he’d prefer the larger seats in business class but he’s found, from experience, that if he sits at the front of the aircraft he’s much too visible.
Judd takes his seat, pulls his cap down as low as it will go, then settles back and stares out the window. The seat beside him is empty, and as the plane is only half full, it should stay that way.
It’s been almost a year so hopefully the attention has waned a little anyway. It’s the reason he doesn’t get out that much any more. Sure, he leaves his house and drives to work at Johnson Space Center every day, but everyone he comes in contact with knows him, and if they don’t they tend to be shy about approaching Judd Bell, saviour of shuttle Atlantis and the great state of Virginia. Interestingly, when he’s outside the work environment, the opposite is true. He’s mobbed, because he’s Judd Bell, saviour of shuttle Atlantis and the great state of Virginia. Over the last year he hasn’t been to a restaurant once. It was just easier to stay in than be mobbed and have to deal with—
‘Excuse me, mister, are you Judd Dell?’
Two minutes! The tap on the shoulder comes exactly two minutes after he sits down. Judd turns from the window and sees a little girl, maybe seven years old, standing in the aisle opposite him, an expectant expression on her face.
‘No, I’m not.’
The little girl is crestfallen. Crestfallen! Man, he hates that expression. It breaks his heart. He can’t do it. He can’t lie to a child. He raises his sunglasses and whispers: ‘But I might be Judd Bell.’’
Her face lights up. ‘That’s what I meant!’
‘Just don’t tell anyone.’
‘Okay! Well, my name is Holly and I just need to tell you that you saved my grandma who lives in Richmond, Virginia, and she’s really nice so thanks for that and also you’re very nice, too.’
‘Thank you, sweetheart, but it wasn’t just me, lots of people helped out that day —’
The little girl turns and runs up the aisle, shouts at the top of her voice: ‘Momma, it is him, it’s Judd Dell! It’s Judd Dell!’
Judd sighs, watches her go. ‘I thought we weren’t going to tell anyone.’