The Basilisk's Mouth

12: EXPONENTIAL POTENTIAL

 Johann expected many things upon entering the control station, but other people were nearing the end of the list. A jolt of surprise takes him when he is met with the sight of colleagues milling around the control desks, tampering with screens that have been dormant for months. The accelerator is largely maintained by AI, human intervention only needed to draft and set up experiments, with the occasional input from a mechanic in the case of a complex problem. It's been a long time since so many people were in the room at once, and it feels like walking in on a robber in his bedroom.

 It's the same kind of sudden violation that Johann felt upon finding the spider on his hand, all those years ago. In due fashion, it's the same kind of solution that enters his head.

 He is rooted to the spot for a moment, his expectation clashing violently with reality. A brief pulse of panic grasps his throat as the collapse of his plan at such a late stage looms before him. After the panic, the agonised waiting, staying at the workstation for nights on end, people would be the thing to foil him. I wouldn't have expected anything less. He strides forward, making his presence known to his colleagues, who look up at him blankly. That's when he finds the loophole.

 Most of them seem fresh out of university, working with the same kind of awe and apprehension that he remembers from his first graduate job, leaning across each other to compare tablets, scratching the back of their necks over a control screen. The few who noticed him enter are staring at him with wide, hesitant gazes, and his authority settles back on his shoulders. He has an advantage here. He's had an advantage for a long time, but he's never thought to make use of it until now. His mind twists into something even more unrecognisable, and I uproot the thought I can use

 He can use their fear.

 "What are you doing here?"

 My voice is hard as glass. Every pair of eyes in the room rise to stare at me, every hand stilling on a display screen or keyboard.

 "Have I missed a memo?" Johann continues. "I was expecting to be working alone today."

 The kids trade wary glances.

 "Professor," a tall boy with wiry hair inputs, "we're just running checks. Dr. Jones sent us to assist you. Apparently there's some problem with the power supplied to the accelerator."

 "Is that so?"

 Johann unfolds his tablet from under his arm. He lets it read his face, and watches as the screen boots up. NO BEAM, it reads, and underneath a red band proclaiming ROKO ACTIVE - CRITICAL POWER.

 Johann nods approvingly and closes it down.

 "Yes, I see the issue," he says. "Don't worry, it's not anything serious. I can take it from here."

 They stare at him. The boy steps forward and nervously clears his throat. "But Jones said that the drift tubes could be malfunctioning, which would be dangerous if-" 

 "If something is fired," Johann says, "and she is correct. But look here." He taps a screen which merely states NO BEAM on it, the warning strip absent. "Nothing is firing today. I assess the current supply at the start of every shift, and if something is wrong the mechanics are just down the hall."

 The boy shifts uncomfortably. "So ..."

 "It's nothing to worry about," Johann says. Sudden inspiration strikes. "But I can tell you where I do need you."

 He rounds a bank of computers, glancing at the screens as he passes. A thrill of relief trembles down his spine when he sees that the clumsy inquiries burnt into the system all reveal nothing of consequence. Every warning is rerouted to the black screen folded under his arm. He feels something akin to the joy of a director upon watching his show on opening night, when his successful rehearsals are proven to be more than flukes.