Dracula Unbound Read Free Page B

invention were poor.
    â€œNot a time machine, Ms. Schatzman. As we’ve made clear, our new process merely halts time-decay—much as refrigeration, let’s say, slows or halts bacterial action. We found a sink in real time. The bag in the cabinet disappeared because it became suddenly stationary with regard to universal time-decay. It remained—it remains at 10:16 this morning. We are the ones who are traveling forward in time, at the rate of twenty-four hours a day. The bag remains forever where we put it, at 10:16. We can reach back and retrieve it if necessary, though the expenditure of energy increases geometrically as we progress further from entry point.
    â€œThe inertial disposal process is far from being a time machine. It is almost the reverse.”
    Ms. Schatzman did not greatly enjoy being talked down to. Perhaps her remark had been intended humorously. “The department will need to inquire into what happens to substances isolated at 10:16, or any other time. It would be irresponsible simply to isolate considerable amounts of toxic waste in time with no clear picture of possible consequences.”
    â€œHow long do you estimate such an inquiry might take?”
    â€œWe’re talking about something unprecedented, a disturbance in the natural order.”
    â€œEr—not if you have an understanding of the science of chaos.”
    She understood she had been snubbed. “An inquiry will of course occupy some weeks.”
    Bodenland took a generous swig of his vodka and inclined his head in her direction.
    â€œThe disposal of toxic waste represents one of the world’s most pressing problems, Ms. Schatzman. No one wants the stuff. Only a decade ago the cost of disposal of nuclear waste as prescribed by U.S. law was $2,500 per ton. It’s thirty times higher now, and rising. Only last week the death of a whole village through the dumping of an illegally manufactured pesticide, Lindane, was reported in Bulgaria.
    â€œThat’s where we come in. Bodenland Enterprises has developed a foolproof way of ridding the world of such evils. All we need is your department’s clearance. You must persuade your committee not to stand in the way of progress.”
    She pronounced the last word at the same moment as he did, “Progress,” echoing it ironically. “‘Progress’ cannot be achieved at the expense of safety. You’re familiar with that concept. It’s what we call the Frankenstein Syndrome.” She attempted a lightness of tone. “You know the department will do what it can, Mr. Bodenland. You also know how thoroughly this new advance will have to be investigated. We have our responsibilities—there are security aspects, too. May I suggest that meanwhile you turn your inventive mind to other matters?”
    â€œSure,” he said, setting his glass down and rising. “I’m going to turn my inventive mind to being a late guest at my son’s wedding.”
    A jazz band was playing an arrangement of “Who’s Sorry Now?” when Joe Bodenland entered the main reception room of the Gondwana Ranch, the home in which he and Mina had lived for a decade. At present it was full of flowers and guests.
    Some of the wedding guests were dancing, some drinking, and some no doubt otherwise engaged. The caterers hired for the occasion were bearing savory and sweet dishes to and fro, while the popping of champagne corks could be heard above the noise of the band.
    Bodenland exchanged compliments and good wishes with a number of family friends as he made his way to where Larry Bodenland stood with his bride, receiving congratulations.
    Kylie greeted Joe warmly enough, flinging her arms round his neck and kissing him on the mouth. Kylie was a beautiful girl, with a round face on which good features were set wide apart, giving her a singularly open appearance. Joe had already discovered that Kylie was no mere innocent. She had—beside