dive between the ball and the back of the net was the best he could do. The teacher-referee finally, mercifully, blew the whistle. In the shower at home Everett had almost wept with pain as the hot water brought life painfully back to his frozen hands.
This was worse.
Everett blew on the fingers of his right hand, breathing a little warmth and movement into them. Done. It was done. It had been a long, painful grunt job. There had been no moments of revelation, no blinding insights that ignited and inspired him to work beyond the limits of exhaustion and hunger. It hadn't been like the night, two universes away, when he had discovered how to turn the data in the Infundibulum into a map of the multiverse. Unlike that night of breathless insight, this project had been nothing but the hard slog of translating one bit of code into another, finding a way for the Infundibulum and the jumpgun to talk to each other. And it was finally done. He would have loved a day—even a few hours—todebug the code. But he had only twenty minutes. That was the lead time Captain Anastasia and Sen had over whatever they had found out there on the ice. Sharkey's radar had picked up three contacts: two that were small, fast, and fleeing, and one that was big and fast.
Everett didn't believe in a god, so he couldn't send up a little prayer. And he didn't believe in luck—he knew how probability worked and how people liked to make coincidences into patterns. So he just said “Okay, go,”—a geekboy's prayer—and tapped the run button. Code scrolled up the screen. Everett watched, his breath steaming and freezing. The code rolled on and on and on. Had it looped? Just as he was about to hit the cancel button, the screen went black, then cleared to show the desktop and an install dialogue box. He clicked install. The green bar filled. Everett realized that he was holding his breath. The screen went black again. Then the Infundibulum opened, along with his own piece of code: the Jump Controller. Everett had designed it from his memories of the control system for operating the Heisenberg Gate in his own world, hidden down in the abandoned Channel Tunnel exploratory diggings, buried deep under chalk. Operating the Jump Controller was simple. You dragged a multiverse address code from the Infundibulum into the destination panel. Then you hit the big JUMP button. The interface fed code to the jumpgun, which opened a maximum-aperture portal around Everness. And in an eye blink you would be somewhere else.
It took Everett three goes to get his numb fingers to drag a piece of multiverse address into the destination box. The JUMP button went from grey to green. He looked a long time at the long string of numbers. The way back. The code for this exact geographical location in his own world. He felt no sense of achievement, no exaltation, no need to punch the air or rejoice. Job done. The road home was open. Then he slipped Dr. Quantum inside his many layers of cold-proof clothing and ran up the frost-slippery stairs to the bridge.
Sharkey came from the communications desk to peer overEverett's shoulder while Everett connected the special USB cable to the jumpgun. Mchynlyth had built Everett his own station, beside Sen's flight control desk. He had wired it and cabled it and had built a cradle for the jumpgun so that it didn't look like what it was: a handgun that shot people into another universe. Everett carefully docked Dr. Quantum and hooked up the power. He stroked the screen and it came alive with a haunting, hypnotizing visual display of the dimensions-within-dimensions folds of the Infundibulum.
“‘He telleth the number of the stars; he calleth them all by their names,’” Sharkey said softly. Everett did not like him so close. He had not trusted him since they had made their run for the border of High Deutschland, trapped between two pursuit frigates and the fighters of HMAS Royal Oak. Sharkey had called for Captain Anastasia to hand Everett
This was worse.
Everett blew on the fingers of his right hand, breathing a little warmth and movement into them. Done. It was done. It had been a long, painful grunt job. There had been no moments of revelation, no blinding insights that ignited and inspired him to work beyond the limits of exhaustion and hunger. It hadn't been like the night, two universes away, when he had discovered how to turn the data in the Infundibulum into a map of the multiverse. Unlike that night of breathless insight, this project had been nothing but the hard slog of translating one bit of code into another, finding a way for the Infundibulum and the jumpgun to talk to each other. And it was finally done. He would have loved a day—even a few hours—todebug the code. But he had only twenty minutes. That was the lead time Captain Anastasia and Sen had over whatever they had found out there on the ice. Sharkey's radar had picked up three contacts: two that were small, fast, and fleeing, and one that was big and fast.
Everett didn't believe in a god, so he couldn't send up a little prayer. And he didn't believe in luck—he knew how probability worked and how people liked to make coincidences into patterns. So he just said “Okay, go,”—a geekboy's prayer—and tapped the run button. Code scrolled up the screen. Everett watched, his breath steaming and freezing. The code rolled on and on and on. Had it looped? Just as he was about to hit the cancel button, the screen went black, then cleared to show the desktop and an install dialogue box. He clicked install. The green bar filled. Everett realized that he was holding his breath. The screen went black again. Then the Infundibulum opened, along with his own piece of code: the Jump Controller. Everett had designed it from his memories of the control system for operating the Heisenberg Gate in his own world, hidden down in the abandoned Channel Tunnel exploratory diggings, buried deep under chalk. Operating the Jump Controller was simple. You dragged a multiverse address code from the Infundibulum into the destination panel. Then you hit the big JUMP button. The interface fed code to the jumpgun, which opened a maximum-aperture portal around Everness. And in an eye blink you would be somewhere else.
It took Everett three goes to get his numb fingers to drag a piece of multiverse address into the destination box. The JUMP button went from grey to green. He looked a long time at the long string of numbers. The way back. The code for this exact geographical location in his own world. He felt no sense of achievement, no exaltation, no need to punch the air or rejoice. Job done. The road home was open. Then he slipped Dr. Quantum inside his many layers of cold-proof clothing and ran up the frost-slippery stairs to the bridge.
Sharkey came from the communications desk to peer overEverett's shoulder while Everett connected the special USB cable to the jumpgun. Mchynlyth had built Everett his own station, beside Sen's flight control desk. He had wired it and cabled it and had built a cradle for the jumpgun so that it didn't look like what it was: a handgun that shot people into another universe. Everett carefully docked Dr. Quantum and hooked up the power. He stroked the screen and it came alive with a haunting, hypnotizing visual display of the dimensions-within-dimensions folds of the Infundibulum.
“‘He telleth the number of the stars; he calleth them all by their names,’” Sharkey said softly. Everett did not like him so close. He had not trusted him since they had made their run for the border of High Deutschland, trapped between two pursuit frigates and the fighters of HMAS Royal Oak. Sharkey had called for Captain Anastasia to hand Everett
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