The demonstration officially began.
Shane stepped toward the workbench, his slender fingers tracing the cool metal surface of the modified prototype. Under the stark white lights of the underground laboratory, the polished steel reflected a faint sheen, and the gear assembly within emitted a low mechanical hum.
"We've reconstructed the optical reading system," said Fritz Langer, stepping forward. His hand pointed toward the maze of circuitry inside the device, his tone precise yet edged with restraint. "The dynamic range has been increased by fourteen percent, allowing the film to capture subtler sound layers." He ran a fingertip along a line of soldered wires, his brow furrowed ever so slightly.
Beside him, Erich Wolf gestured toward a chart pinned to the wall. "We've also reduced background noise by nearly twenty percent," he explained. "Most of the hiss from the film stock has been eliminated." The waveform graphs clearly showed the improvement—though the faint imperfections still betrayed the technology's limits.
Clara Meyer flicked a switch. The projector rattled to life, the film spooling through its gate with rhythmic precision. On the white wall, Al Jolson's figure appeared in The Jazz Singer. The image moved with energy and realism—but when the sound joined, a barely perceptible delay became evident to the trained eye.
"The current synchronization error is about six thousandths of a second," Clara said, twisting a corner of her apron unconsciously.
Professor Heinrich Müller, the team's leader, laid out a stack of blueprints. His spectacles glinted under the light, though his eyes avoided Shane's for a brief moment. "Mr. Cassidy," he began quietly, "we have made considerable progress. The results are promising—but far from perfect."
Shane took out his chequebook, his movements calm and deliberate. He wrote a figure: $70,000. Sliding it across the workbench, he met Müller's gaze directly.
"Professor," he said, his Irish lilt soft yet steady, "is there still room for improvement?"
Müller's fingers trembled slightly as he adjusted his glasses. "If we had two more years," he murmured, "we could completely deconstruct and rebuild the Tri-Ergon system. What you see now represents only half of what's possible."
A silence fell across the laboratory. The rhythmic hum of the projector continued in the background. Every member of the team seemed weighed down by the same frustration—the sting of brilliance restrained by circumstance.
Shane looked around the room. These people—geniuses of their field—stood at the edge of a revolution, yet lacked the means to take the final step. He understood that feeling better than anyone; he, too, had come from another lifetime, from a world where he knew exactly how history would unfold.
He broke the silence. "If this project ends here," he asked quietly, "what will you all do next?"
The question rippled through the room like a stone dropped into still water.
Fritz Langer gave a tight, awkward smile. "Zeiss has halted all acoustic research. The best I could do is become a quality inspector."
Wolf sighed, setting down his soldering iron. "Leitz still has contracts—mostly military optics. Nothing to do with sound."
Clara Meyer hesitated before speaking, her voice small but clear. "My father runs a bakery in Vienna. He's not well. I might have to go home."
Professor Müller exhaled deeply, his tone weary but honest. "To tell the truth, Mr. Cassidy, Germany cut forty percent of its research funding last year. Most of us haven't received proper pay in months. Without your investment, this laboratory would never have survived the winter."
Shane listened without interruption. His gaze softened—not with pity, but with calculation. He saw more than failure in this basement; he saw opportunity.
"New York," he said finally, "has laboratories better equipped than any in Europe—and financial conditions that allow true research to thrive." His voice carried weight. "Would you all consider joining Pioneer Optics?"
The words hung in the air, met first by stunned silence—then by a flicker of hope.
"You mean… continue the project?" Clara asked, her blue eyes lighting up.
"Not just continue," Shane replied, his tone confident. "I believe that with proper resources, this team could surpass the Vitaphone system within two years."
Müller's hand rested on a blueprint as he thought. The silence stretched for a moment before he gave a slow, deliberate nod. "If you can handle the visas," he said simply.
Clara twirled a screwdriver between her fingers, her fatigue momentarily forgotten. "Then it's a promise."
Shane smiled faintly. "Then it's settled. I'll handle the rest. I expect we'll meet again—this time, in New York."
The Daimler sedan glided smoothly along the country road, Zurich shrinking behind them. Marcus Hofmann loosened his tie and rolled down the window, letting in the scent of damp grass and cedar.
"I must admit," he said with a grin, "I didn't think Dr. Müller would agree so quickly. Especially when the results fell short of what you hoped for."
Shane leaned back in his seat, his gaze on the green fields flashing by. "Scholars are human, Marcus. They need stability as much as purpose. Germany's cut in research funding left them stranded. Zurich is a refuge, not a future."
He turned slightly, his tone thoughtful. "And sometimes, an unfinished project holds greater value than a perfect one—it still has room to grow."
Marcus flipped open his leather notebook. "Seven visas, relocation costs, laboratory setup… I'd estimate at least two hundred thousand dollars."
Shane chuckled softly, patting the crocodile briefcase beside him. "For the future of sound cinema? That's a modest sum. Warner Bros. has already spent over two million developing the Vitaphone system. What we're holding here isn't just an improvement—it's the foundation of what the entire industry will soon adopt."
Marcus smiled knowingly and opened his silver cigarette case. "So, we contact Old Henry for the immigration work?"
"No," Shane said, accepting the cigarette and lighting it. "We'll start with our lawyer in Zurich. Switzerland's confidentiality laws will keep things quiet—for now." He exhaled a stream of smoke, eyes narrowing. "Fox has already sent agents to Europe searching for new sound technology. Until Müller's team is safely out, not a word must leak."
Outside the window, the snow-dusted Alps gleamed beneath the rising sun—sharp, cold, and brilliant.
Shane crushed the cigarette in the ashtray, his eyes reflecting the light of dawn. "We're not just changing technology, Marcus. We're rewriting the rules of an entire industry. And the Müller team…"
He smiled faintly. "…will be our ace in the hole."