trickland knows the shadow-shape of Hoffstetler as sure as he knows the Russian’s flat-footed gait. He’s got him. Strickland moves faster, charging up the center of the hall by a single window’s worth of morning rays, ignoring an MP who salutes and asks for instruction. It takes a few steps for Strickland to pick up on a very unexpected thing. Hoffstetler isn’t running away. Hoffstetler’s coming straight at him. Strickland stops, thumbs the cattle prod, readies it at his side, opens his mouth to yell. But Hoffstetler speaks first.

Strickland! It got free! I went inside to ready it, and it dragged me into the pool!”

“You expect me to believe—”

Hoffstetler grabs Strickland’s coat. Strickland recoils, wants to jam him with the Howdy-do, but it’s so sudden, so bewildering.

“It’s not me, Richard! Somebody broke in! Got it out!”

“You’re the dirty Red who came into my—”

“If it was me, would I be telling you this? We need to shut down the whole facility!”

Hoffstetler’s face is so close their noses touch. Strickland glares, trying to make out the scientist’s eyes. Truth is in the eyes. He’s seen it in every man he’s threatened. Every man he’s killed. If only he could see it.

Then, a little favor: All the lights in the universe blast back to life.