TWO
Science is by definition an iterative process, and scientists, those observers of the natural world, are drawn to the philosophy by their innate curiosity. The world view of science is changeable, constantly re-viewable, with never-ending caveats, complexities, and surprises: it is, in fact, a coarse reflection of the natural world. And therein lies the fascination.
—Julian Whitney, Lectures on Cretaceous Ecology
The explosion was deafening in the confined, concrete-walled room: a sharp crack like a massive electrical discharge. Julian instinctively pulled into a crouch with his arms over his head. There was a flash of blue light, and the circular door of the vault blew wide open and slammed against the wall. Smoke poured from the aperture, and the room filled up with the acrid smell of burnt electrical circuits.
Yariko was the first to recover from the shock; she darted to the opening and leaned in, fanning aside the smoke with her hand. “Dr. Shanker,” she hissed. “Are you all right? Can you hear me?” To Julian’s horror, she climbed inside.
Even in the first instant of fear, Julian noted that Yariko did not yell; if anything she was almost whispering. His ears, recovering from the explosion, barely registered her voice. For several more seconds he didn’t move, not knowing what would happen next. There might be another explosion. The vault might be on fire. He wished Yariko would get out.
He didn’t want to think about Dr. Shanker, in the center of the explosion. He felt slightly sick.
“Julian.” It was Yariko’s voice, barely reaching him. She was looking out of the vault, her eyes already red from the smoke. “Come here. I need your help.”
Realizing he’d been crouching half under the counter while Yariko charged into the smoke, Julian hurried over and peered in after her, dreading to see blood everywhere. The smoke was already dispersing, although the smell was choking and it stung his eyes. The equipment on the center table was partially burnt. Some of the dials had been torn off and lay scattered about the room, their glass faces glittering in shards on the floor. Hilda cringed in the corner with her tail between her legs. Dr. Shanker knelt, clutching one side of his face, blood congealing in his beard. His hands were trembling.
Yariko knelt beside him. “We have to get him out,” she whispered, looking up at Julian as he leaned in the doorway. “Before it explodes again. It’s still sensitive to vibrations—to noise.”
Julian climbed in, squinting against the smoke, trying to ignore the nauseating feeling in his stomach. They put their hands under Dr. Shanker’s elbows and heaved.
Then a voice bellowed, “Don’t move him if he’s hurt!” A man’s head was thrust into the vault: one of the security guards, Julian realized; a big, meaty fellow with a marine style crew cut and a no-nonsense air. He frowned at Julian and said, “Who are you? Who let you in?”
“There’s no time,” Yariko snapped, although still speaking quietly. “We have to get out of here now. And keep your voice down.” To Julian she said, “Lift him up.” They tugged again at Dr. Shanker’s arms, without much result, as he weighed over two hundred pounds.
The guard eyed Yariko suspiciously. He climbed inside and knelt in front of Dr. Shanker. “Show us the injury,” he said, and his voice, although calm, reverberated in the metal chamber. He firmly pulled aside Dr. Shanker’s hands, revealing bloody pulp where his face should have been.
The guard winced. “Christ,” he muttered. “All right, let’s lift him out.” Then he shouted, “Ron! Hurry up! Ron! I need help!” His voice echoed and boomed in the vault, and Julian heard Dr. Shanker whispering through his clutched hands and his labored breathing, “Shut up. Shut up.”
Yariko stood and grabbed the man’s arm. “You’ll set it off again,” she hissed. He stared at her as she went back to Dr. Shanker and tried to lift him again. “Help me. Julian. Frank. Just get him out of here.”
The second guard leaned into the portal.
“Jesus Christ, Frank, what happened?” he said, his voice also sounding overloud in the confined space. “Electrical fire? I just called 911 . . . that was some explosion.”
But then the world heaved and disappeared in blackness and noise, sparks and confusion, and a total numbness that was more frightening than any pain.
Julian struck something solid on his hands and knees; a tilted slab of concrete, he thought. But he could not get to his feet. He struggled a moment and then sank down again, cheek against the cool pebbly cement, and lost consciousness.