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The door opened once again and Pendergast came in. Ferenc was surprised to see his employer not dressed in his usual black suit. Instead he was wearing a tailored jacket of brown twill, with lapels so narrow the necktie at his throat was scarcely visible. The jacket was cut away below, allowing a vest of the same material and a gold watch chain to be visible. The trousers were equally narrow, tapered, and patterned with a stripe. He wore a bowler hat and held a large bag, similar to a Gladstone, over which a heavy broadcloth overcoat had been draped. In short, he looked like a man who had just stepped out of the nineteenth century—or, Ferenc thought, was about to step back into it. He realized with a chill that the man was going to “test” the machine right here, right now—on himself.
Pendergast’s silvery eyes took in the machine. The menacing, Frankenstein-like electrodes of polished steel and copper that made up the business end of the original device had been replaced by next-generation lasers and optics. It was not the same machine that had been destroyed: it was better. But not infallible.
Now Pendergast turned his eyes toward Ferenc. “Ready when you are, Dr. Ferenc.”
“I thought we were going to test it first? Best practices: shake and bake, remember?”
“No time.”
“Surely we should at least try it on, say, a mouse, or a Pomeranian?”
“No.”
He stared. The man certainly had cojones. Ferenc turned to Proctor. “Um, are you ready?”
Instead of replying, Proctor took his position at the console on the far side of the machine.
“Jesus, Mr. Pendergast, I really don’t think this is a good idea.”
The resulting stare unnerved him. “Youdobelieve the machine will work?”
“Yes, of course. But you know, as I implied earlier, it’s a bit like Russian roulette.”
“And Iwillbe able to return to this universe—this place, and this time—by retreating to the precise spot where I entered that parallel universe?”
“Yes. It worked for the old machine, and I’ve got the coordinates dialed in. Just remember: theprecisespot. And—” he tried to chuckle— “let’s hope some hapless passerby doesn’t loiter over the same place.”
Pendergast’s eyebrows rose. “Is that a possibility?”
“We’ve used the new machine to look into the parallel universe at the date and location last used by the old device, and we’ve synced the timeline accordingly. It’s a foul cul-de-sac off Longacre Square, and it seems more or less deserted. If you want to come back you have to be in the exact spot and remain there for at least ten, fifteen seconds. So is it a possibility? Yes—but admittedly remote. One thing to remember, however: time passes along the same continuum. If you’re gone a day there, a day will pass here.”
A curt nod. And then, in a sudden, odd gesture of affection, Pendergast strode over to Proctor and extended his hand. The man took it and they shook gravely.
“Carry on as discussed, if I don’t return,” Pendergast told him.
“Yes, sir.”
He turned to Ferenc. “Proceed.”
Shaking his head, Ferenc pointed to two marks he’d made on the floor with spray paint and stencil: a large X in red, and an equally large circle—about three feet away from it—in green.
“If you could stand on the red X, Mr. Pendergast?”
Pendergast took up the position. From the way he carried the Gladstone bag, it was obviously heavy. Ferenc placed his hands on the master control panel and began going through the sequence to fire up the machine, one knob and lever at a time. Proctor did his own part, monitoring and finely adjusting numerous dials, oscilloscopes, and touch screens. A hum, low but discernible, came from the machine as it powered up.
“Braiding underway,” Ferenc said. “Lattice forming. Proctor, how is the semiconductor temperature?”
“Within tolerances.”
Pendergast remained on the indicated spot, motionless. He looked silly with his bowler hat and carpet bag, but the expression on his face was forbidding.
Watching the controls for any unexpected spikes or warning messages, Ferenc moved on to the next step. “Main laser online,” he said. “Secondary laser now coming on.”
A second hum sounded, slightly higher in pitch than the first. Ferenc paused for a moment, listening for any interruptions or deviations that could signal a malfunction. He realized his heart was pounding.
“Proctor? Diagnostics on the lattice?”
“Primary and secondary both flat.”