The Age Atomic

FIVE



It was blue and beautiful and dangerous, and Captain Nimrod never tired of looking at it. Perhaps it was his imagination, but standing in the light of the Fissure, he felt… invigorated? Not quite the right word. Young. That was it. In the light of the Fissure he felt young, and while he knew that was just his imagination, an impossibility according to the scientists employed by the Department to study the crack in space/time, that didn’t stop Nimrod closing his eyes and enjoying the warm bath of energy that swirled in the air around him.

And it made sense, really it did. The Fissure emitted energies that he and his fellow scientists could barely comprehend, although he understood more than the others. Perhaps the energy from the Fissure was making him feel young as it bathed every cell in his body with deadly light, and one day he would simply drop dead, or perhaps do something unexpected like explode over his morning coffee.

Perhaps, perhaps. Nimrod opened his eyes and watched the Fissure in both fear and fascination.

Around the edge of the concrete disc in Battery Park, the usual complement of MPs stood. Nimrod wondered if they felt it too. Usually they guarded the Fissure while it was inside its armored egg-like shell. Opening the shell, exposing the moving, living space-time event was a special, rare event.

Nimrod stroked his mustache. Of course, there was someone else who knew as much about the Fissure as he did: one Captain Carson, native of the Empire State. And right now Nimrod wished his counterpart from the Pocket would make contact. But the Fissure roared and roiled and…

And there was nothing on the other side. It was a glitch, a temporary disturbance on the time-space conduit that linked New York City to the Empire State. That was all, had to be. An entire universe – even a small, city-sized one such as the Empire State – couldn’t just vanish.

Could it?

Nimrod brushed his mustache again. He couldn’t send any more agents through. It was futile; none had yet returned, not even one of his most trusted men, Mr Jones. Were they dead? Nimrod felt a tightness in his chest, knowing that he would be to blame if that were the case, having sent his own agents to their deaths across a portal between universes with nothing on the other side.

But the other methods of transdimensional travel weren’t working either. The hall of mirrors back at the Department was just that, a hall lined with mirrors. Nimrod’s team had even tried reversing the electrical charge that danced so delicately across the polished metal surfaces, enough potential energy there to fill your mouth with the taste of vinegar, but to no avail. Nimrod and the others had stood and watched their own reflections for weeks before Nimrod had taken to staring at the Fissure itself. It was prettier than his reflection, for a start.

But it was no different in Battery Park, staring into the void between this world and the next. The Fissure was active and stable and unchanged, but there was nothing on the other side. The connection with the Empire State had been lost.

“Sir,” said the MP. Nimrod turned away from the Fissure and instantly missed it.

The Fissure was addictive. Nimrod knew that, and the scowl vanished from his face. The MP looked nervous behind the black goggles they all wore. Nimrod made a note to get himself a pair for the next visit.

“Sir,” the MP said again, his voice low and discreet.

“Yes?” Nimrod wondered how long, exactly, he’d been standing in Battery Park. The Fissure played tricks with your mind, with time.

“She is asking for you.”

Nimrod blinked, then nodded. “Very well.”

“There’s this too, sir.” The MP handed Nimrod a newspaper. It was fresh, the paper crisp and warm between his fingers. Nimrod cast an eye over the headline on the front page above a blurred black and white photo that showed nothing much except something white floating in the air against the background of what looked like Brooklyn at night.

The MP stood back and saluted, then turned and marched away. Nimrod frowned, folded the newspaper into quarters, and followed.

It was best not the keep the Ghost of Gotham waiting.