Free Dead Letters Anthology by Conrad Williams Page A

information is way too protected for any outsider to get hold of it.’
    The words ‘large group’ triggered a response. He thought of the Atlantica built on a bedrock of stone that somehow wasn’t stone at all, that could liquefy and become something else, all the while emitting electrical pulses.
    ‘How much air do they have in there?’ He looked up at the darkened windows.
    ‘I’d have to work out the building’s cubic capacity but—’
    ‘Take a guess.’
    ‘With so many people inside, maybe two hours. The heat will make a difference.’
    One of the senior engineers had found him. ‘Roy, there’s a flaw in the glass near the ground-floor reception area,’ he explained. ‘One of the seals came down a couple of nights ago and we replaced it with a temporary plastic resin. There’s about three metres of it.’
    ‘Are any of the JCBs still on-site?’
    ‘There’s a loader and a couple of speed tractors nearby.’
    ‘Can you get someone to bring over whatever’s the heaviest?’
    The yellow steel tractor had trouble making it through the milling crowds. With the exit signs no longer illuminated, some spectators were starting to search for ways out of the grounds. A swell of raised voices was washing through the site now.
    ‘Come with me,’ Roy told the engineer, hopping into the tractor cab and throwing its lights on high-beam. ‘Can I see the replacement resin?’
    ‘No, it’s the same colour as the normal seals.’
    ‘Then I need you to point it out to me.’
    The glass angles of the Atlantica’s grand lobby were picked up by the tractor beams. People moved out of the way, puzzled by the appearance of the tractor. ‘There,’ said the engineer, ‘to your right.’
    Roy could make out a thin grey strip connecting the panels. He pumped the tractor into high gear.
    ‘You’re just going to ram it?’ asked the engineer, disturbed.
    ‘Only to push the plates far enough apart to admit air. There’ll be bigger problems starting in a few minutes if this place doesn’t get back online fast.’
    They buckled up as the tractor shot forward, slamming into the join. The plastic strip gave slightly but refused to break. He put the tractor in reverse and tried again. He could feel the crowd shifting apprehensively behind him. This time, the tractor punched the seal out. Roy looked up and saw that one of the glass panels had been separated from its surround.
    He span the tractor and raced it back as the sheet fell, exploding around him in a million iridescent shards, like crystal rainfall. The spectators at his back were agitated now and seeking to move away, animals sensing their journey to the abattoir. There were shouts. Hundreds of mobile phone screens wavered in the dark, like the audience at a rock concert. Roy parked the tractor and ran back to the security stand, where he found Raj.
    ‘We have to evacuate the entire park right now,’ Raj warned.
    ‘We can’t do that. You won’t be able to get the gates open.’
    ‘Then we’ll need to find a way. What about manual overrides?’
    Roy shrugged. ‘Your guess is as good as mine. Could the aquarium blow out?’ A vast marineland of sharks, rays and thousands of tropical fish ran along the rear wall of the viewing deck, extending three floors up.
    ‘The glass will hold. It’s a foot thick. But the tank doors aren’t up to spec. They’ll punch out first and the cubic capacity of that thing – without operational limiters, the water pressure will just keep building. By now it will already be way into red. And the gardens—’
    ‘What about them?’
    ‘There are two hundred and seventy thousand submerged water jets out there getting ready to burst.’
    ‘Can’t the city cut the supply?’
    ‘The separate main water management systems are in the basement. We didn’t want to risk human error so they’re controlled and co-ordinated by the system—’
    ‘—that’s down. You’re telling me you have no other fail-safes.’
    ‘Why would we