Fic, Silk and Steel, Part 25, 18
Dec. 20th, 2008 11:46 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fredbassettTitle : Silk and Steel, Part 25
Authors :![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
fredbassett & munchkinofdoom
Fandom : Primeval
Characters : Lester, Cutter, Connor, Anne Morris
Rating : 18
Disclaimer : Not ours, no money made, don’t sue
Spoilers : None.
Summary : Professor Morris arrives in the ARC.
Warning : Slave!fic!
A/N : The remainder of the series can be found here
The atrium, with its enormous bank of display screens, was almost empty, but Cutter still felt exposed, on display. From his vantage point in front of the computer terminal, flanked by Connor, he had a clear view of everyone who passed from one side of the cavernous space to the other. Most people headed either for the ramp up to the first floor or along the ground floor corridor on their way to the basement laboratories. Few, if any stopped to observe what was happening in their midst. The central position should have given him some feeling of control, but he felt far from in control of anything at this point.
Lester’s words, spoken to him on the day of the collaring ceremony, still rang in Cutter's head, and he'd tried to follow the man's sensible directions, he really had, even though the instructions had been couched in their normal veneer of sarcasm. He’d kept his concerns to himself, staying below the radar, but it was hard. And the strain was beginning to tell.
Twice, in the past few weeks, he’d approached Ditzy for something to help him sleep, exhaustion finally overcoming stubborness. He would even have done it a third time, but that particular night, the infirmary had been supervised by another medic, Wilkes, and Cutter had hesitated. The rest of the team seemed to trust the man, and Lieutenant Owen himself had spoken highly of the other medic when he'd had to leave Lyle in his care, but Cutter just felt he didn't know Wilkes well enough.
So he had medicated himself that particular night, drinking himself almost into oblivion, and he’d suffered for it the next day. This had resulted in yet another quiet chat, outside in the rapidly cooling weather, with Lester. And by now, Cutter had had quite enough of Lester's little chats.
"Incoming at 9 o'clock," Connor muttered, startling Cutter out of his introspection. When he looked up in confusion, Connor nudged him in the ribs, cocking his head to their left and up toward the ramp.
Sir James Lester was in full flight, striding down the ramp as if he owned it, which Cutter had to admit the man probably did – for all Lester's protestations of threats, enemies and his claimed problems with protecting Cutter and his team. This time, though, Lester was not alone.
A woman strolled along in his wake, apparently unconcerned at being left behind by her escort. Middle aged, if her grey hair was anything to go by, and plainly dressed, wearing sensible shoes. She would have passed unnoticed anywhere other than in the ARC.
Cutter watched her gazing around the atrium with interest she was making no attempt to conceal.
She smiled when her eyes met his.
"Ah, Cutter! Just the man I was looking for," remarked Lester.
That didn't sound good. Cutter sat up straighter, while Connor craned around him to see what was going on.
"Anne, dear, let me introduce Professor Nick Cutter, our resident evolutionary zoologist. The unkempt miscreant beside him is his protégé, Connor Temple."
Cutter rose to his feet and nervously wiped his hand on his trousers before he could stop himself. She reminded him a little too distinctly of his kindergarten teacher. He was also struck by a sudden urge to check he didn’t have an inky face. Then, shrugging his shoulders in wry apology, he offered his hand to the woman. She took it, her smile widening.
"Cutter, Temple, meet Professor Anne Morris from Cambridge University. Her subject is experimental physics. She’s here to bring some much needed intellectual rigour to the art of dinosaur-chasing. She’ll be taking over from Professor Butterfield."
"What’s happened to old Butterfingers?" asked Connor. Lester glared, while all Professor Morris did was return Connor’s grin. "Professor Butterfield," Connor quickly corrected.
"Professor Morris will be in charge of the Physics Department and Professor Butterfield will take the position of her administration assistant, as that appears to be where his strengths lie. By the way, I wouldn’t mention his latest item of personal adornment, gentleman, I gather it’s something of a sore subject. I’m relying on Professor Morris to advance our research into the anomalies. I trust you will both afford her your full cooperation?"
"About bloody time," Connor muttered.
"Yes, Mr Temple," remarked Lester, dryly, "we are well aware of your opinion on that matter."
"So this is your Anomaly Detector Device, Connor?" Annie said, dispensing a confident nod in Cutter’s direction, then smiling at Conner with what appeared to be reassurance. "How does it work?"
"You'll have time for all that later, Annie. You still have the rest of the ARC to see," admonished Lester.
"I’ve done quite enough sight-seeing for one morning, James, I'm here to work, remember? I might as well get started since, fortunately, there seem to be no dinosaurs to provide a distraction at the moment.”
Lester looked pointedly at his companion and sighed. "Fine. As you wish. Be so kind as to join me in my office when you are finished."
Lester turned and stalked back up the ramp, in the direction of his glass-walled office.
Annie turned to find Cutter and Connor looking at her, Cutter with some trepidation.
"Here, have my seat," he offered, making an effort to be polite.
She thanked him and sat down in front of the terminal at his side. A moment later, she turned back to him, “Do get yourself a chair, dear chap, no need to stand to attention.”
With the sinking feeling that she really was a reincarnation of his old teacher, Cutter took the line of least resistance and pinched one of the chairs from an adjoining laboratory.
The two were deep into conversation by the time he returned with his prize, seemingly kindred souls. A fact which he wasn’t quite sure whether to applaud or not.
"87.61 MHz? That was lucky," exclaimed the physicist. "Another half a megahertz and you'd have been in the commercial band. As it is, you're damned close to the community radio band."
"I know," Connor nodded, vigorously. "And, what with the capture effect, the ADD would have been sunk before we've even got it off the ground!"
"Capture effect?" Cutter asked, faintly.
She favoured him with the sort of stare usually reserved for children who’d spoken out of turn at the dinner table, before deigning to reply: "FM waves are somewhat possessive of their bandwidths. British commercial radio is usually allocated the bandwidth between 88 and 108 MHz and, depending on demand, you could have a commercial user every 50 kHz, although 100 is preferred. Mainly because if you put two stations too close together in the FM bandwidth, the stronger signal will capture that bandwidth, so to speak, and drown out the weaker signal."
"You're saying that, if the anomalies were in that commercial bandwidth, we wouldn’t be able to locate them?"
"Exactly," Connor cut in. "The radio station would hide the anomaly's signature unless it was emitting a very strong signal."
"Add to that the short distance that FM waves travel before they simply bounce off into space when they hit the horizon, you've been damned lucky to be able to detect them at all," said Annie, with an approving nod at Connor.
The young man grinned. "If this was the only receiver, yeah."
"But it isn't?" Annie asked. Connor's grin widened. Annie looked hard at him, then nodded. "Enough said."
"How do we know, then, that we are detecting every anomaly?" asked Cutter, alarmed.
"We don't," Connor replied.
"Now you tell me!"
"Hush, Professor," Annie reassured. "Don’t get all hot and bothered. I'll be adding that little problem to my to-do list. Amongst other things."
"Other things? And, er, call me Cutter. We don’t stand on ceremony much, round here."
“So I hear,” she returned, with another of the penetrating glances that Cutter was already starting to find unsettling. "I normally answer to Annie." Then, with a softening expression, she reached across and placed a hand on his. "With Connor’s help, I intend to analyse the hell out of these anomalies. We know of one frequency of electromagnetic radiation that they emit. We also know that they have a strong magnetic field. But we don't know whether these levels are the same on both sides of the anomaly."
"That’s important?" asked Cutter, painfully aware of the fact that he didn’t seem to be acquitting himself too well in this encounter.
"I have a theory or two about both the anomalies and the eras they connect. But I need much more information before I can be comfortable with my hypothesis."
Cutter looked at the hand on top of his, then finally looked up to meet Annie's gaze. What he saw there was strangely comforting.
Speaking in a low voice, she continued: "There is a very distinct possibility that the anomalies aren't just doors to the past, but bridges between universes."
Cutter's blood ran cold. "Bridges?"
Annie shrugged, her hand tightening on his and in a voice barely above a whisper, she said: "I intend to find out if something, lost in one universe, can be returned to its original one."
Shivers ran down his spine, and Cutter's vision clouded for a moment. Seated across the computer desk from him, Connor separating their chairs, Cutter could feel the intensity of Annie Morris's regard. Then, with a final pat to his hand, she stood up, resting a companionable hand on Connor's shoulder.
"Now, young man, I need to see this mobile probe of yours. We’re going to need to fit it out with more than just a camera, if we are going to record the various properties of the other side of these anomalies. Data. That's what I need. Data. The more data, the better. No such thing as too much data in science, eh, Cutter?"
Cutter could hear their voices fade away into the distance as Connor led the woman off toward his inner sanctum, chattering all the way. But he was so stunned that he could barely make out their words.
Home.
He might actually, eventually, get to go home.
Authors :
fredbassett & munchkinofdoom Fandom : Primeval
Characters : Lester, Cutter, Connor, Anne Morris
Rating : 18
Disclaimer : Not ours, no money made, don’t sue
Spoilers : None.
Summary : Professor Morris arrives in the ARC.
Warning : Slave!fic!
A/N : The remainder of the series can be found here
The atrium, with its enormous bank of display screens, was almost empty, but Cutter still felt exposed, on display. From his vantage point in front of the computer terminal, flanked by Connor, he had a clear view of everyone who passed from one side of the cavernous space to the other. Most people headed either for the ramp up to the first floor or along the ground floor corridor on their way to the basement laboratories. Few, if any stopped to observe what was happening in their midst. The central position should have given him some feeling of control, but he felt far from in control of anything at this point.
Lester’s words, spoken to him on the day of the collaring ceremony, still rang in Cutter's head, and he'd tried to follow the man's sensible directions, he really had, even though the instructions had been couched in their normal veneer of sarcasm. He’d kept his concerns to himself, staying below the radar, but it was hard. And the strain was beginning to tell.
Twice, in the past few weeks, he’d approached Ditzy for something to help him sleep, exhaustion finally overcoming stubborness. He would even have done it a third time, but that particular night, the infirmary had been supervised by another medic, Wilkes, and Cutter had hesitated. The rest of the team seemed to trust the man, and Lieutenant Owen himself had spoken highly of the other medic when he'd had to leave Lyle in his care, but Cutter just felt he didn't know Wilkes well enough.
So he had medicated himself that particular night, drinking himself almost into oblivion, and he’d suffered for it the next day. This had resulted in yet another quiet chat, outside in the rapidly cooling weather, with Lester. And by now, Cutter had had quite enough of Lester's little chats.
"Incoming at 9 o'clock," Connor muttered, startling Cutter out of his introspection. When he looked up in confusion, Connor nudged him in the ribs, cocking his head to their left and up toward the ramp.
Sir James Lester was in full flight, striding down the ramp as if he owned it, which Cutter had to admit the man probably did – for all Lester's protestations of threats, enemies and his claimed problems with protecting Cutter and his team. This time, though, Lester was not alone.
A woman strolled along in his wake, apparently unconcerned at being left behind by her escort. Middle aged, if her grey hair was anything to go by, and plainly dressed, wearing sensible shoes. She would have passed unnoticed anywhere other than in the ARC.
Cutter watched her gazing around the atrium with interest she was making no attempt to conceal.
She smiled when her eyes met his.
"Ah, Cutter! Just the man I was looking for," remarked Lester.
That didn't sound good. Cutter sat up straighter, while Connor craned around him to see what was going on.
"Anne, dear, let me introduce Professor Nick Cutter, our resident evolutionary zoologist. The unkempt miscreant beside him is his protégé, Connor Temple."
Cutter rose to his feet and nervously wiped his hand on his trousers before he could stop himself. She reminded him a little too distinctly of his kindergarten teacher. He was also struck by a sudden urge to check he didn’t have an inky face. Then, shrugging his shoulders in wry apology, he offered his hand to the woman. She took it, her smile widening.
"Cutter, Temple, meet Professor Anne Morris from Cambridge University. Her subject is experimental physics. She’s here to bring some much needed intellectual rigour to the art of dinosaur-chasing. She’ll be taking over from Professor Butterfield."
"What’s happened to old Butterfingers?" asked Connor. Lester glared, while all Professor Morris did was return Connor’s grin. "Professor Butterfield," Connor quickly corrected.
"Professor Morris will be in charge of the Physics Department and Professor Butterfield will take the position of her administration assistant, as that appears to be where his strengths lie. By the way, I wouldn’t mention his latest item of personal adornment, gentleman, I gather it’s something of a sore subject. I’m relying on Professor Morris to advance our research into the anomalies. I trust you will both afford her your full cooperation?"
"About bloody time," Connor muttered.
"Yes, Mr Temple," remarked Lester, dryly, "we are well aware of your opinion on that matter."
"So this is your Anomaly Detector Device, Connor?" Annie said, dispensing a confident nod in Cutter’s direction, then smiling at Conner with what appeared to be reassurance. "How does it work?"
"You'll have time for all that later, Annie. You still have the rest of the ARC to see," admonished Lester.
"I’ve done quite enough sight-seeing for one morning, James, I'm here to work, remember? I might as well get started since, fortunately, there seem to be no dinosaurs to provide a distraction at the moment.”
Lester looked pointedly at his companion and sighed. "Fine. As you wish. Be so kind as to join me in my office when you are finished."
Lester turned and stalked back up the ramp, in the direction of his glass-walled office.
Annie turned to find Cutter and Connor looking at her, Cutter with some trepidation.
"Here, have my seat," he offered, making an effort to be polite.
She thanked him and sat down in front of the terminal at his side. A moment later, she turned back to him, “Do get yourself a chair, dear chap, no need to stand to attention.”
With the sinking feeling that she really was a reincarnation of his old teacher, Cutter took the line of least resistance and pinched one of the chairs from an adjoining laboratory.
The two were deep into conversation by the time he returned with his prize, seemingly kindred souls. A fact which he wasn’t quite sure whether to applaud or not.
"87.61 MHz? That was lucky," exclaimed the physicist. "Another half a megahertz and you'd have been in the commercial band. As it is, you're damned close to the community radio band."
"I know," Connor nodded, vigorously. "And, what with the capture effect, the ADD would have been sunk before we've even got it off the ground!"
"Capture effect?" Cutter asked, faintly.
She favoured him with the sort of stare usually reserved for children who’d spoken out of turn at the dinner table, before deigning to reply: "FM waves are somewhat possessive of their bandwidths. British commercial radio is usually allocated the bandwidth between 88 and 108 MHz and, depending on demand, you could have a commercial user every 50 kHz, although 100 is preferred. Mainly because if you put two stations too close together in the FM bandwidth, the stronger signal will capture that bandwidth, so to speak, and drown out the weaker signal."
"You're saying that, if the anomalies were in that commercial bandwidth, we wouldn’t be able to locate them?"
"Exactly," Connor cut in. "The radio station would hide the anomaly's signature unless it was emitting a very strong signal."
"Add to that the short distance that FM waves travel before they simply bounce off into space when they hit the horizon, you've been damned lucky to be able to detect them at all," said Annie, with an approving nod at Connor.
The young man grinned. "If this was the only receiver, yeah."
"But it isn't?" Annie asked. Connor's grin widened. Annie looked hard at him, then nodded. "Enough said."
"How do we know, then, that we are detecting every anomaly?" asked Cutter, alarmed.
"We don't," Connor replied.
"Now you tell me!"
"Hush, Professor," Annie reassured. "Don’t get all hot and bothered. I'll be adding that little problem to my to-do list. Amongst other things."
"Other things? And, er, call me Cutter. We don’t stand on ceremony much, round here."
“So I hear,” she returned, with another of the penetrating glances that Cutter was already starting to find unsettling. "I normally answer to Annie." Then, with a softening expression, she reached across and placed a hand on his. "With Connor’s help, I intend to analyse the hell out of these anomalies. We know of one frequency of electromagnetic radiation that they emit. We also know that they have a strong magnetic field. But we don't know whether these levels are the same on both sides of the anomaly."
"That’s important?" asked Cutter, painfully aware of the fact that he didn’t seem to be acquitting himself too well in this encounter.
"I have a theory or two about both the anomalies and the eras they connect. But I need much more information before I can be comfortable with my hypothesis."
Cutter looked at the hand on top of his, then finally looked up to meet Annie's gaze. What he saw there was strangely comforting.
Speaking in a low voice, she continued: "There is a very distinct possibility that the anomalies aren't just doors to the past, but bridges between universes."
Cutter's blood ran cold. "Bridges?"
Annie shrugged, her hand tightening on his and in a voice barely above a whisper, she said: "I intend to find out if something, lost in one universe, can be returned to its original one."
Shivers ran down his spine, and Cutter's vision clouded for a moment. Seated across the computer desk from him, Connor separating their chairs, Cutter could feel the intensity of Annie Morris's regard. Then, with a final pat to his hand, she stood up, resting a companionable hand on Connor's shoulder.
"Now, young man, I need to see this mobile probe of yours. We’re going to need to fit it out with more than just a camera, if we are going to record the various properties of the other side of these anomalies. Data. That's what I need. Data. The more data, the better. No such thing as too much data in science, eh, Cutter?"
Cutter could hear their voices fade away into the distance as Connor led the woman off toward his inner sanctum, chattering all the way. But he was so stunned that he could barely make out their words.
Home.
He might actually, eventually, get to go home.
no subject
Date: 2008-12-21 11:55 am (UTC)