“That capsule looks pretty small for all of us, Colonel,” one of Halstead’s companions remarked as he watched Bayer leave the workstation and approach the vessel in question.

“There’s plenty room inside for all of us, Mitchell.”

“Sir?”

“It’s time for a group photo.” The eleven survivors under Halstead’s command looked at one another uneasily, but their commander’s smile did not waver. “We should commemorate this historical occasion. You scruffy racist rednecks from the backwoods of Idaho are finally getting your chance to prove the supremacy of the Aryan race. This is the moment you goons have been waiting for all your lives!”

Mitchell dropped his rucksack on the floor with a soft clang and started to undo the top flap. “But Colonel, you told me yourself that this quantum thing will destroy all film, electronics—”

“I said it might destroy all those things. It’s worth a shot. Everyone gather in front of the capsule, and I’ll take the picture.” Halstead pointed at Wally, who stood beside the capsule with one hand on the hatch’s handle. “Is the Box ready?”

“Ready. All you have to do is board the capsule. It’ll be shifted back into position, and released automatically.”

“Then I want you to start the automatic sequence, Bayer, and join my men in front of the capsule. You’re one of the team now.”

Wally passed Halstead, who had come to a stop in the center of the platform after accepting a digital camera from Mitchell, on the way back to the computer workstation. “I think I should point out—”

“Don’t point out anything, Mr. Bayer. Just start the automatic sequence, and give us a minute delay to take the picture.”