Moving his hands over the portable access unit, he quick-programmed a new routine to lower the heat shield and in seconds a grating sound released itself in the wall above them, the niobium-titanium wall descending to seal the void where the Plexiglas fell away.
A vault lock reverberated through the room.
With trembling hands and whitened face, Frank stepped slowly, unsteadily back from the alloy shield. He stared at the wall for a moment as if he couldn't remember where he was, what he was doing. Red emergency lights in the monitor room continued to glow, backup modes functioning despite the impact of the phenomenal blast on the electrical system. Finally, glassy-eyed, he turned to the Observation Room. Only two of the dozen staff scientists remained.
“It didn't get out,” he said, pale with sweat.
No response.
A gray-haired man, decades older than Frank himself but centuries behind his understanding of the project, collapsed heavily into a chair. He raised a white, trembling hand to smooth back sweat-plastered hair and leaned forward, head hanging low, clearly exhausted. The other remaining scientist, a raven-haired woman in her early twenties, the sleeve of her lab coat still smoldering where flames had erupted from the computer panel, turned away, trembling quietly. Without even acknowledging that she had heard the comment, she leaned her head against the wall, breathing deeply, firmly grasping a steel support beam, regaining control.
“It didn't get out,” Frank repeated, almost apologetic. “It's still locked in the Containment Cavern. And I'm flooding the cavern with nitrogen to put it to sleep. It didn't... it didn't get out.”
“What happened in here!”
The irate voice had erupted from the military figure that appeared suddenly in the doorway.
Wearing green utility fatigues swirling with smoke from the corridor beyond, the lean presence in the entry dominated the room. The man glared at the foam-covered computer terminals and the overturned printouts, coffee cups, fire extinguishers, and chairs. Then through the fading vapors he nervously centered on Frank, repeating the question with impatient authority.
“Doctor! I asked you a question! What happened?”
Frank pointed to the niobium-titanium wall. Said nothing.
For the first time since he had entered, Colonel Carl Chesterton switched his glare to the alloy shield. Hesitant, he slowly walked into the room, his right hand settling on the .45-caliber semiautomatic on his belt. He froze in front of the optical control panel, staring with silent fear before he turned toward Frank. His voice was low, harsh.
“Did it—”
“No,” Frank answered, a thin, dark-haired man who looked too young for the position. “It didn't get out.”
As if from reflex, Colonel Chesterton's gaze wandered between the scientist and the reinforced wall. Then with a conscious effort he seemed to collect himself, solidifying into a more commanding bearing. He focused again on Frank, locked into a calmness.
“Did it cause all this?” he asked, frowning uneasily.
No expression. “Yes.”
Controlled rage hardened Chesterton's voice. “Well ... is it still locked in the Containment Cavern, Doctor? Or did it melt one of the doors?” He stared. “Maybe you should let me know before we discover that we're in a world of hurt.”
Without missing a beat Frank reached out and switched on a screen that had somehow escaped the chaotic foaming. The monitor blinked unsteadily in red, then orange, flickering.
“The viewing camera inside the Containment Cavern is shielded from heat,” he said. “It should have survived the blast. If it's still working, we'll be able to see it on the monitor.”
Unsteadily the monitor continued to flicker, hazy and uncertain, before it honed into a gray clarity. Then, as the image cleared, Frank released a dismal laugh, disoriented or stunned.
“Yeah, it's in there,” he said, amazement fading into cold observation. “See for yourself.”
Chesterton was already leaning in front of the screen, staring intently into the haze. Sweat beaded his forehead, his neck. He squinted as he studied the blurred image. “Where?” he muttered. “Where is it?”
“It's right in front of you.”
“No, Doctor. It's not in there.”
“Look closer.”
Chesterton leaned toward the screen, his eyes roaming from one side to the other, searching. Then he suddenly stepped back, a startled curse catching in his throat. A grim hate passed over his face as he lifted a trembling hand, pointing to the screen.
“All right,” he said. “Shut it off. It's in there.”
Frank continued to stare at the screen. “I never saw it coming,” he said, scientific discipline entering to make his voice almost emotionless. “I guess it was a mistake, but I just never saw it coming. None of us did.” A long pause. “I mean, we all knew it had some kind of potential for this. But this was just ... just unreal.”