Ramzy—as always—is bolder than me. When Dr. Pretorius asks him if he ever tries to imagine the future, he says: “Not really.”

“Nonsense!” she snaps. “Everybody does! What’s the weather gonna be tomorrow, hmm?”

Ramzy looks a bit scared, and I begin to feel sorry for him. It’s as though he’s being picked on. “I’m not sure, but apparently it’s going to get even warmer after the weekend.”

“Exactly! Weather forecasts! We’ve been predicting the future for years! But tell me this, young man: is it definitely going to be warmer?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think weather forecasts are definite, are they?”

“No! They’re just guesses. Educated guesses—but guesses all the same. Hundreds of people gather the data from around the country. Air temperatures, sea temperatures, wind speed, atmospheric pressure, heck—from around the world—and they punch it into computers, and the computers do their thing and—hey presto!—we can tell you exactly what the weather will be at the weekend. Is that right?”

Ramzy says, “Yeah. Sounds right to m—”

“Wrong!” She says it so loudly that we both jump. “All they can tell us is what the weather will probably be at the weekend. So the woman on the television or the guy on the radio—they’re not predicting the actual future, just the probable future.”

(Probable. Remember that word. It’s going to be important.)

“So imagine if a computer could gather all of the information about everything around us: not just the weather, but the movements of people, of vehicles, how plants grow, how a leaf blows in the wind, how somebody speaks…everything! And then process it all. Every last bit of information. Then what?”

I’m still trying to take in this idea, and don’t realize at first that Dr. Pretorius is pointing at me.

“Georgie!” she yaps impatiently. “What can the computer do with all this information?”

Slowly, I ease an answer out. It’s just like being in school but scarier. Her eyes are wide, and I really think she might explode if I get it wrong.

“Erm…does the computer process it, and predict…the future? A probable future?”

“Yes!” she yells, grinning. (I think it’s my use of the word probable that delights her.) “Exactly, kiddo! And then, using multisensory virtual reality, we re-create that probable future, allowing us to experience it as if it’s really happening! Forget about weather forecasts—this is a world forecast!”

Dr. Pretorius is breathing hard as she paces the control room, delivering this speech with waving arms and wobbling white hair. A light sweat has appeared on her forehead. After a moment, Ramzy speaks up.

“Is this…you know…real? Does it work?”

Dr. Pretorius nods vigorously. Her hair follows. “Oh yes, it sure works. In theory. It just needs to be tested.”

“And this…processing. Doesn’t it require, like, an incredibly powerful computer?”

Good question. I’ve got to hand it to Ramzy: he’s not afraid to ask.

“Indeed it does, my boy, indeed it does. Good thing I have one, huh? Follow me.”

She leads us out of the control room, round the studio floor, and pulls aside a thick black-green curtain. Behind it is a circular window painted black. She pushes it open and the light floods the dark space, making us squint, and casts an elongated circle onto the floor. On a flat roof, just below us, is a large satellite receiver, about two yards across and more or less invisible from street level.

“Check that out!” she says proudly.

Ramzy and I both go, “Hmmm!” and “Wow!” although to us, it’s just a satellite dish. Dr. Pretorius aims her long forefinger at it.

“Every ninety minutes, for about ten minutes, this baby picks up a live, ultra-high-definition video signal from the US military satellite Hawking II. You heard of it?” We shake our heads and Dr. Pretorius gives a little sigh. “Good. It’s not supposed to be well known. It’s the most powerful satellite of its kind on Earth. Or actually, above Earth. And in case you were wondering how I get access to such a signal…”

(We weren’t. You forget we’re only kids, I want to say.)

“…then let me just say, a lot of money buys a lot of favors. Ha!” Dr. Pretorius turns away from us to close the window and I can see she’s smiling to herself, pleased with her “lot of favors” quip.

“Come on, don’t lag behind.” She strides off again, back toward the control room, where she stops and points to a black metal box, about the size of a washing machine, with a couple of blinking lights on it. I had seen it the last time but had not paid it much attention.

“You’ve heard of quantum computers?” she asks. “Quomps, they’re known as? Well, meet the most powerful in Europe, possibly the world. I call her Little Girl.”

This time, when Ramzy and I say, “Wow!” it’s sincere.

“It…it works? For real?” says Ramzy in awe.

Dr. Pretorius takes her time. She straightens up and nods slowly, a look of deep satisfaction giving her dark skin a flush of pride. “She most certainly does, fella! Even those dullards at NASA and Cambridge University are about ten years behind old Emilia Pretorius and her Little Girl.” She pats the shiny unit gently and smiles as she moves back to the desk.

Ramzy and I are left staring at Little Girl, the super-powered computer, while Dr. Pretorius starts bashing away at her keyboard.

I find myself putting my hand up as though I’m still at school. Ramzy smirks and I put it down again.

“Excuse me, Dr. Pretorius?”

She stops jabbing at the keyboard and looks up. She’s been so absorbed in whatever she was doing that she seems almost surprised to see me there. “What is it, kid?”

“You say this whole thing, this…this Big Experiment is new and untested?”

“Yes, yes. What about it?”

“So…why don’t you test it yourself?”

Her eyes narrow to slits, and her lips purse tight, and I wonder if I have said the wrong thing.

“I can’t,” she says eventually. “That’s what I need you for.”