had much to add, although he had the sense they might be more forthcoming
one-on-one. Otherwise, it was the Cheney and Davidson show, with a few annotations
from the anthropologist. From the way they spoke, if their degrees had been medals,
they would all have had them pinned to some kind of quasi-military scientist uniform—like,
say, the lab coats they all lacked. But he understood the impulse, understood that
this was just part of the ongoing narrative: What once had been a wide territory for
the science division had, bit by bit, been taken away from them.
Grace had apparently told them—ordered them?—to give Control the usual spiel, which
he took as a form of subterfuge or, at best, a possible waste of time. But they didn’t
seem to mind this rehash. Instead, they relished it, like overeager magicians in search
of an audience. Control could tell that Whitby was embarrassed by the way he made
himself small and insignificant in a far corner of the room.
The “piece of resistance,” as his father used to joke, was a video of white rabbits
disappearing across the invisible border: something they must have shown many times,
from their running commentary.
The event had occurred in the mid-1990s, and Control had come across it in the data
pertaining to the invisible border between Area X and the world. As if in a reflexive
act of frustration at the lack of progress, the scientists had let loose two thousand
white rabbits about fifty feet from the border, in a clear-cut area, and herded them
right into the border. In addition to the value of observing the rabbits’ transition
from here to there, the science division had had some hope that the simultaneous or
near-simultaneous breaching of the border by so many “living bodies” might “overload”
the “mechanism” behind the border, causing it to short-circuit, even if “just locally.”
This supposed that the border could be overloaded, like a power grid.
They had documented the rabbits’ transition not only with standard video but also
with tiny cameras strapped to some of the rabbits’ heads. The resulting montage that
had been edited together used split screen for maximum dramatic effect, along with
slow motion and fast-forward in ways that conveyed an oddly flippant quality when
taken in aggregate. As if even the video editor had wanted to make light of the event,
to somehow, through an embedded irreverence, find a way to unsee it. In all, Control
knew, the video and digital library contained more than forty thousand video segments
of rabbits vanishing. Jumping. Squirming atop one another as they formed sloppy rabbit
pyramids in their efforts not to be pushed into the border.
The main video sequence, whether shown at regular speed or in slow motion, had a matter-of-fact
and abrupt quality to it. The rabbits were zigging and zagging ahead of humans in
baggy contamination suits, who had corralled them in a semicircle. The humans looked
weirdly like anonymous white-clad riot police, holding long white shields linked together
to form a wall to hem in and herd the rabbits. A neon red line across the ground delineated
the fifteen-foot transition zone between the world and Area X.
A few rabbits fled around the lip of the semicircle or in crazed jumps found trajectories
that brought them over the riot wall as they were pushed forward. But most could not
escape. Most hurtled forward and, either running or in mid-jump, disappeared as they
hit the edge of the border. There was no ripple, no explosion of blood and organs.
They just disappeared. Close-up slow motion revealed a microsecond of transition in
which a half or quarter of a rabbit might appear on the screen, but only a captured
frame could really chart the moment between there and not-there. In one still, this translated into staring at the hindquarters of
about four dozen jostling rabbits, most in mid-leap, disembodied from
one-on-one. Otherwise, it was the Cheney and Davidson show, with a few annotations
from the anthropologist. From the way they spoke, if their degrees had been medals,
they would all have had them pinned to some kind of quasi-military scientist uniform—like,
say, the lab coats they all lacked. But he understood the impulse, understood that
this was just part of the ongoing narrative: What once had been a wide territory for
the science division had, bit by bit, been taken away from them.
Grace had apparently told them—ordered them?—to give Control the usual spiel, which
he took as a form of subterfuge or, at best, a possible waste of time. But they didn’t
seem to mind this rehash. Instead, they relished it, like overeager magicians in search
of an audience. Control could tell that Whitby was embarrassed by the way he made
himself small and insignificant in a far corner of the room.
The “piece of resistance,” as his father used to joke, was a video of white rabbits
disappearing across the invisible border: something they must have shown many times,
from their running commentary.
The event had occurred in the mid-1990s, and Control had come across it in the data
pertaining to the invisible border between Area X and the world. As if in a reflexive
act of frustration at the lack of progress, the scientists had let loose two thousand
white rabbits about fifty feet from the border, in a clear-cut area, and herded them
right into the border. In addition to the value of observing the rabbits’ transition
from here to there, the science division had had some hope that the simultaneous or
near-simultaneous breaching of the border by so many “living bodies” might “overload”
the “mechanism” behind the border, causing it to short-circuit, even if “just locally.”
This supposed that the border could be overloaded, like a power grid.
They had documented the rabbits’ transition not only with standard video but also
with tiny cameras strapped to some of the rabbits’ heads. The resulting montage that
had been edited together used split screen for maximum dramatic effect, along with
slow motion and fast-forward in ways that conveyed an oddly flippant quality when
taken in aggregate. As if even the video editor had wanted to make light of the event,
to somehow, through an embedded irreverence, find a way to unsee it. In all, Control
knew, the video and digital library contained more than forty thousand video segments
of rabbits vanishing. Jumping. Squirming atop one another as they formed sloppy rabbit
pyramids in their efforts not to be pushed into the border.
The main video sequence, whether shown at regular speed or in slow motion, had a matter-of-fact
and abrupt quality to it. The rabbits were zigging and zagging ahead of humans in
baggy contamination suits, who had corralled them in a semicircle. The humans looked
weirdly like anonymous white-clad riot police, holding long white shields linked together
to form a wall to hem in and herd the rabbits. A neon red line across the ground delineated
the fifteen-foot transition zone between the world and Area X.
A few rabbits fled around the lip of the semicircle or in crazed jumps found trajectories
that brought them over the riot wall as they were pushed forward. But most could not
escape. Most hurtled forward and, either running or in mid-jump, disappeared as they
hit the edge of the border. There was no ripple, no explosion of blood and organs.
They just disappeared. Close-up slow motion revealed a microsecond of transition in
which a half or quarter of a rabbit might appear on the screen, but only a captured
frame could really chart the moment between there and not-there. In one still, this translated into staring at the hindquarters of
about four dozen jostling rabbits, most in mid-leap, disembodied from
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