“We didn’t ask permission,” I said.
“I can see why,” Sanders said. “Seems super sketchy.”
“We were desperate to get across,” Aparna said.
Sanders regarded Aparna. “And why was that?”
“Because we need you to send Bella back. She’s a danger to you and to herself.”
Sanders smiled. “Oh, you mean because of the nuclear burps.”
Aparna frowned at this characterization. “Yes.”
“We know all about them. We’re not worried about them.”
“You’re not worried about a kaiju going nuclear on you?” Kahurangi asked, incredulous.
“We’re counting on it,” Sanders said. “Dude, we just brought a kaiju over to this side of things. Do you know how illegal that is? She goes nuclear, she wipes out every bit of evidence of what we were doing here, including herself. There’s nothing left but a crater.”
“And flash fires, and nuclear fallout,” Kahurangi pointed out.
Sanders waved this away. “Into a national park no one goes to anyway.”
“Bella might move,” Aparna said. “If she’s in too much pain or is confused, she might leave here. If she leaves here and heads to Goose Bay, then thousands of people might die.”
Sanders grinned widely. “Which is even better,” he said. “There’s a Canadian military base there. A nuclear attack on Canada’s military? In Labrador? Shit, that’s confusing for everyone. They’ll spend months trying to figure out who did that and why. I figure they’ll eventually settle on China, because why wouldn’t they. A nuclear at tack on North America, during a pandemic, right before the United States election—right before this United States election. That’s going to be amazing. Martial law for the U.S., for one. Stocks will crater, for two. I have short sellers standing by.”
“Martial law and the economy cratering is a nice opportunity for you,” I said, sarcastically.
“Don’t be angry that I have a plan, Jamie,” Sanders said. “It’s more than you had, clearly. You really thought you could just send Bella back by fiddling around with my laptop?”
“Maybe,” I said, realizing how ridiculous it sounded now.
Sanders reached into his shirt and pulled out something tiny on a chain. “USB security key, my friend. The capacitors don’t discharge without this physically plugged into the laptop. I mean, come on, that’s just basic CEO-level security right there.”
“Why do you even have your perimeter still on, then?” Niamh asked.
“Perimeter?” Sanders looked confused.
“Excuse me, your trans-dimensional portal,” Niamh spat, disgusted.
“It’s a good name,” Sanders said. “I thought it up myself.”
“Dude, it’s from fucking Doom,” Kahurangi said.
“You do have a history of stealing terms from science fiction classics,” I pointed out.
“I have no idea what either of you two are talking about,” Sanders said. “As for your question, Dr. Healy, it’s still active because it’s a fail-safe. If Bella became unruly before we had an indication she would go nuclear, we could send her back. We don’t need it now. In fact, when I’m done here I’ll go turn it off. Strand Bella over here for good.”
“How does it work, anyway?” Niamh pressed. This session was meant to extract answers from us, but Sanders was an egotistical shit and liked to talk. Clearly the plan we’d all decided on without discussing it in advance was to keep him monologuing.
“You like it?” Sanders asked Niamh.
“I want to understand it.”
Sanders casually looked at his watch. “For all the good it will do you, given how much time you have left.”
“I want to know how you thought of it, prototyped it, and had it ready for this”—Niamh motioned with their head to encompass everything—“in a couple of weeks. And by you, I mean whatever scientists you employ, because you clearly have no capability for it.”
“Ouch,” Sanders said. “I have an engineering degree.”
“You have a bachelor’s from a college where you’re a legacy,” I said. “Your family probably endowed the building and they let you skate through.”
Sanders narrowed his eyes. “I could feed you all to parasites right now, if you want.”
“Then you wouldn’t get answers to your questions,” Aparna said.