The Flicker Men by Ted Kosmatka

moment of realization. “Jesus,” the man said.
    â€œWe’d like to run more tests,” I said. “Work our way up through every phylum, class, and order—primates being of particular interest because of their evolutionary connection to us.”
    â€œOf course,” the manager said. His eyes went far away. It was the face of shell shock. He was still processing.
    â€œWe may need more resources.”
    â€œThen you’ll have it.”
    â€œAnd a budget.”
    â€œAs much as you want,” the manager said. “As much funding as you want.”
    *   *   *
    It took ten days to arrange. We worked in conjunction with the Franklin Park Zoo.
    Transporting large numbers of animals can be a logistical nightmare, so it was decided that it would be easier to bring the lab to the zoo than the zoo to the lab. Vans were hired. Technicians assigned. Point Machine put his own research on hold and appropriated a lab tech to feed his amphibians. Satvik’s research also went on official hiatus.
    â€œI don’t want to interfere with your work,” I told him when I found out.
    Satvik shook his head. “I must see this through.”
    It was a Saturday morning when we set up the experiment in one of the new exhibits under construction—a green, high-ceilinged room that would one day house muntjacs. For now, though, it would house scientists, the zoo’s strangest and most transient tenants. Blocking out the light was the hardest part, with canvas deployed over the broad glass entryway. The working floor itself was still unfinished and recessed below the level of the entrance; so three short stairs had to be assembled that led down to the wide octagon of bare concrete on which the tables were set up. Satvik worked the electronics. Point Machine liaised with the zoo staff. I built a bigger wooden box.
    This box was six feet square, reinforced on all sides with two-by-four studs every twelve inches. It was large, strong, and lighttight.
    Satvik noticed me with the electric saw. “Be careful,” he said. “Shortcuts lead to long cuts.” As he walked away, I wondered if that was one of his expressions, or if he’d made it up special.
    The zoo staff didn’t seem particularly inclined to cooperate until the size of Hansen’s charitable donation was explained to them by the zoo superintendent. After that, they were very helpful.
    Setup continued through the weekend until everything was up and running, just like at the lab. As a control, I put Satvik in the box and ran the test. He saw the light. The interference pattern collapsed into two distinct points on the capture screen.
    â€œIt works,” Point Machine said.
    The following Monday we started the experiment. We got to the zoo early, and the keepers let us in the gates.
    To corroborate our earlier work, we’d already agreed to start with frogs.
    Satvik checked the light one final time, and then Point Machine put one of his frogs in the wooden box.
    â€œYou ready?” I asked.
    He nodded. I looked over at Jeremy, who’d arrived with an entourage a few minutes earlier and now stood off to the side, near the wall. His face was set in concentration. Behind him, two managers in suits sweated in the muggy darkness. They were here to see the machine work. Point Machine stood by the capture screen, along with a handful of technicians.
    I hit the button. The machine thrummed like a guitar string.
    â€œHow’s it look?”
    Point machine checked the screen. He gave a thumbs-up. “Just like at the lab,” he said. “No change.”
    *   *   *
    We ate lunch in the zoo cafeteria among the milling crowds. A thousand visitors, kids in tow. Balloons and ice cream. A double stroller jutted into an aisle while families came and went. No one had any idea about the experiment that would take place behind the construction signs just a few dozen yards away.
    Point