Two

Mark came down the ladder so fast he almost fell. The others hurried over to him and saw that he was white and shaking.

‘Mark, what’s wrong?’ cried Chris, ‘what’s up there?’

Mark was taking deep breaths, his face screwed up as if he was tasting something awful. ‘There’s nothing up there,’ he gasped finally, ‘just a pair of overalls. But they stink something horrible . . .’

‘Is that what all the panic is about?’ sneered Alex. ‘A pair of smelly overalls?’

‘You go up and smell them,’ said Mark angrily. ‘It’s like something’s been dead and rotting up there for weeks.’

‘But you didn’t see any sign of the driver?’ asked Paul worriedly.

Mark shook his head.

‘Then where did he get to? How come we didn’t see him come down?’ asked Linda.

‘Good question,’ said Paul, staring around the empty, deserted-looking deck. The wind, as it blew over the tops of the three squat chimneys, made an eerie whistling sound. He shivered. He was beginning to feel cold again. The psychological warmth generated by their rescue was beginning to fade. And he could tell that his companions were experiencing a similar feeling of anxiety. Linda, tall and slim with her dark, tight-curled hair tumbling to her shoulders, was looking like a nervous deer about to bolt towards the nearest cover; Mark and Chris were holding onto each other and Rochelle, edging closer to Alex, looked much younger and more vulnerable than usual. Even Alex wasn’t bothering to conceal an obvious nervousness. For some reason Paul found this the most disturbing thing of all.

‘Well, guys,’ he said with a forced heartiness, ‘this isn’t getting us anywhere. Let’s get under cover and start looking for our bashful hosts before we freeze to death.’

Alex suddenly snapped his fingers and said, ‘Remote control.’

Paul looked at him blankly. ‘What?’

‘Remote control. That’s how they ran that crane routine. I’ll bet all the equipment around here can be operated by remote control,’ he said triumphantly, sounding like his usual self again. Then he pointed. ‘And look. That’s how they saw us.’

Paul looked in the direction Alex was pointing. He saw what appeared to be a small TV camera attached to a pole near the crane.

‘And there’s another one!’ cried Alex, pointing towards the circular helicopter landing pad that extended out from the far corner of the roof.

Paul nodded. ‘You may be right,’ he admitted reluctantly. ‘But that doesn’t explain why they haven’t made an appearance yet.’

Alex shrugged. ‘Maybe there’s only one caretaker on the rig and he’s busy or something. How should I know?’

‘Come on,’ said Rochelle, ‘let’s go find out before my tits fall off from the cold.’ The wind was whipping her pink-streaked hair and her lips were almost the same colour as the small blue jewel on the side of her nose. Paul couldn’t help glancing down at her nipples which were clearly visible – hard and swollen – behind the thin fabric of her shirt.

He grinned and nodded. ‘Yes, you’re right. We’ll go down to the next deck and see if we can find a way inside.’ He gestured towards the top of the ladder that led to the deck below. ‘Alex, why don’t you and Ro lead the way?’

Alex seemed to be about to argue for a moment but then apparently changed his mind. ‘Okay,’ he grunted. ‘Come on Ro.’

As Alex disappeared from view down the ladder Paul turned to Mark and Chris. ‘You go next, Linda and I’ll bring up the rear.’ But Mark wasn’t listening. He was staring up at the empty driver’s cabin on the crane. Paul realised he didn’t look well. There was a darkness under his eyes and his cheeks seemed sunken. ‘Hey, Mark, you in there?’

Mark blinked and looked round at him. Paul didn’t like the look of him. In all the years he’d known him Mark had never been particularly healthy but now he was a physical wreck. His weight was down to about nine and a half stone and his skin had a yellowish pallor to it. It wasn’t just due to the privations of the last three days; Mark had been losing weight before the shipwreck. Paul had tried to find out what was wrong with him but everytime he brought the subject up Mark had sidestepped it.

‘Mark? Are you okay?’

‘Huh? Oh, yeah. I’m okay.’ He returned his gaze to the crane cabin. ‘Paul,’ he added quietly, ‘There was something in the overalls up there.’

Paul frowned. ‘In the overalls? What do you mean?’

‘They were full of slime. Black slime. Horrible stuff. That’s where the stink was coming from . . .’

Chris was looking at him worriedly now. ‘Mark, are you sure you feel okay?’

‘What do you think it was?’ asked Mark, ignoring her.

‘The slime? Probably just grease,’ said Paul. ‘That’s what overalls are for – to get grease on. And this is an oil rig after all . . .’

‘But inside?’

‘It probably just soaked through. Mark, why are you making such a big production over a bit of grease?’

‘You don’t understand,’ persisted Mark, shaking his head. ‘It wasn’t just . . .’ At this point he was interrupted by a yell from Alex. ‘Hey, you guys! Come on down! We found a way in!’

‘Okay! We’re coming!’ Paul yelled back. Then he turned back to Mark and said, impatiently, ‘Well? What were you going to say?’

Mark sighed. ‘Forget it. It was nothing. Just my imagination I guess.’ He gave the crane one last look then headed for the ladder. Chris hurried after him.

He’s definitely close to cracking up, thought Paul sombrely as he followed them.

When he arrived on the catwalk below he saw the others were gathered around an open door looking pleased with themselves. ‘Voila!’ cried Linda, indicating the doorway with a flourish as he approached.

He looked inside. He found himself staring down a short, featureless corridor that ended with a black, opaque glass door. That’s odd, he thought. He didn’t really know what he expected to see but it certainly wasn’t this.

‘Still no sign of any welcoming committee,’ he muttered, ‘I guess we might as well go in.’ He entered the corridor and walked along to the glass door. The others followed him.

There was no handle on the door but there was a red button set in the wall beside it. ‘Push it,’ said Mark. ‘It might be the doorbell.’

Paul pushed it. The door slid silently open – to reveal yet another similar door some six feet away. At the same time a panel in the ceiling began to produce an intense violet light.

‘Weird,’ said Alex.

Enveloped by the bright, eerie glow from above Paul walked along to the next door. There was another button beside it so he pushed it. Nothing happened.

As the others crowded in behind him Mark said nervously, ‘You think this light is safe? I can actually feel it on my skin.’

Paul kept pushing the button. ‘It’s some sort of sterilising device, I think. Though what it’s doing on an oil rig is beyond me.’

‘Steriliser?’ Alex gave a forced laugh. ‘Huh, if my balls turn green Brinkstone is gonna hear from my lawyers. Open that damn door, will you . . . ?’

‘It won’t open,’ said Paul helplessly.

‘Perhaps we have to close the other one first,’ suggested Linda. She was examining the wall. ‘There’s another button back here. Shall I give it a go?’

Paul hesitated. He didn’t like the idea of being trapped between the two doors, especially with that light shining on them – it was making his skin tingle too. But finally he said, ‘Yeah. Push it.’

The outer door slid shut behind them. Paul tried the other button again. To his relief the door opened. And the violet light switched off.

Ahead stretched a long, gleaming white corridor illuminated by fluorescent strip lighting. It reminded Paul of a hospital. There was even a strong whiff of disinfectant in the air.

They stared down the corridor in silent wonder. Then Mark said, ‘I’m beginning to think this is no ordinary oil rig.’

‘Congratulations,’ sneered Alex. ‘That must have used up a lot of grey cells, dickhead.’

‘What is this place then?’ asked Linda.

‘You’ve got me,’ admitted Paul.

Unexpectedly Rochelle let loose a piercing yell that made them all jump. ‘Hey! Is anybody home?!’

Her voice echoed down the corridor then faded away. There was no response.

‘Jesus, warn me before you do that again, you bitch,’ muttered Alex.

‘I don’t like this,’ said Chris worriedly. ‘It’s creepy. There’s something wrong here. I can sense it.’

‘We don’t need any of your psychic stuff just now, okay?’ said Paul, more curtly than he meant to. ‘We’re all feeling jumpy enough without you having to pile on the agony.’ It was one of the things that annoyed him about Chris. If she wasn’t going on about ecology, natural food and the industrial rape of the environment she was waffling on about astrology and her psychic powers. She and Mark had spent a month last summer trekking up and down the countryside following the routes of so-called ‘ley-lines’ which she swore she could feel. She and Mark made a good pair. Both were a bit loony in their way.

‘Come on,’ he said brusquely, ‘let’s go find someone who can tell us what all this is about.’ He strode off purposefully and knocked loudly on the first door he came to. There was no reply so he tried the handle. The white-painted door opened. He looked inside.

The lights were on and he could tell at a glance that the room was empty. He entered cautiously, feeling something of a trespasser. He kept expecting someone to appear suddenly and angrily demand to know what they were doing there.

It was a big room and obviously a laboratory of some sort. It was filled with all kinds of scientific equipment – microscopes, racks of test tubes, sterilising cabinets, humidifiers, refrigerators and various other things he couldn’t identify. The only touch of colour amidst the oppressive whiteness was provided by several wall charts featuring graphs and diagrams, and what appeared to be a piece of abstract sculpture made up of hundreds of garishly painted ping pong balls. The latter stood on a dais in the centre of the room.

The others spilled in behind him and stared around. ‘Wow,’ said Rochelle, ‘it’s like something out of a sci-fi movie. All that’s missing is the men in the white coats.’

‘What on earth is a lab like this doing on an oil rig?’ asked Linda.

‘No mystery,’ said Alex. ‘They use it for analysing mineral samples, oil shale, mud and stuff like that.’

Paul shook his head. ‘No. This is a medical lab. I recognise a lot of the gear. When I got out of college I spent a year working as a lab technician in a medical school. And it fits in with that air-lock thing out in the corridor. It’s some kind of safety device to stop bacteria getting out . . .’

‘Oh my God!’ cried Chris ‘you mean this place might be full of dangerous germs?’

Paul couldn’t help smiling. She had a fetish against any kind of pollution and an accompanying mania about personal hygiene. ‘Take it easy,’ he said. ‘No need to jump to any wild conclusions. The air-lock is probably just a precaution. Who knows, it may be there to stop contamination coming in from outside.’

‘I hope you’re right,’ she said. ‘I just wish we could find someone to talk to. Where is everyone? What happened to them?’

‘Whatever happened they certainly left in a hurry,’ said Linda. ‘Look at this.’ She pointed at a coffee cup sitting on one of the tables. ‘It’s half full.’

‘Gee, just like the Marie Celeste,’ said Rochelle, and gave a theatrical shudder. ‘That ship where all the people disappeared right in the middle of their meal.’

‘It was called the Mary Celeste, not Marie,’ said Mark. ‘And it wasn’t such a big mystery as everyone thinks it was.’

‘Oh yeah? How do you know?’ demanded Rochelle.

‘Yeah, pinhead,’ said Alex belligerently. ‘What the hell do you know about what really happened? You got psychic powers like your old lady too?’

They all looked expectantly at Mark, including Paul. Mark gave a resigned sigh. ‘When I was a kid my father told me the story of the Mary Celeste. We were out alone on the yacht at the time, miles from anywhere. He wanted to scare me, I think, and he did a damned good job of it. Everytime I went out on the yacht with him after that – and he was always making me go on trips with him – I couldn’t get the story out of my mind. Whenever we lost sight of land my imagination used to run riot. I expected to see God knows what come out of the water, or out of the sky, and grab us. So eventually, when I got older, I decided to do some checking up on the Celeste story . . .’

‘How?’ asked Paul.

Mark shrugged. ‘Easy. The records are still on file with Lloyds of London. I arranged to go look at them. Turns out that the whole Celeste thing got wildly exaggerated by the newspapers at the time, and by writers since then. For example, the legend has it that all the lifeboats were on the ship when it was found but that isn’t true. One of the boats was missing, which led the official enquiry to conclude that the ship encountered bad weather and the crew panicked and abandoned her in the mistaken belief she was sinking. There was certainly a lot of evidence that the ship had been through a storm . . .’

‘So there goes another illusion,’ said Paul with a grin. ‘But it just goes to prove we shouldn’t let ourselves get spooked by this place. We stay calm and loose until we figure out what the set-up is here.’

‘Yes sir, Mr Boss-Man,’ said Alex sarcastically. ‘Whatever you say.’ Then suddenly he bent down behind a chair and picked something up off the floor. Paul saw it was a white lab coat. And as Alex held it up a bra and a pair of white lace briefs fell out. Leering, Alex snatched up the briefs. ‘Hey! They got women here.’ To Paul’s disgust he put them to his nose and made exaggerated sniffing noises. ‘Mmm-mm, I’d sure like to meet the owner of these. You think they had some kind of orgy in here?’

‘More likely she took them off because her clothes had become contaminated,’ said Paul coldly.

Alex dropped the underwear as if it had burnt his fingers. He took a quick step backwards and stared at Paul with wide, scared eyes. ‘Hey, what kind of shit are you pulling? Contaminated? How come?’

Paul couldn’t resist twisting the knife. ‘It’s possible. There could have been a release of dangerous bacteria in here. Why else would someone strip off in the middle of a lab? Perhaps that’s the reason this place seems deserted.’

‘You don’t really believe that, do you Paul?’ asked Chris in a panicky voice.

Paul immediately regretted his words. For the sake of scoring a cheap shot against Alex he’d made things worse. He was supposed to be calming their fears, not scaring them even more. ‘No, I guess not,’ he told her reassuringly. ‘If there was anything loose in the air I think this whole area would have been automatically sealed off. That airlock outside is probably designed to do just that.’

‘Which still leaves us with the question of why the owner of these clothes took them all off,’ said Linda. ‘Look, her shoes are here too.’

‘Perhaps there was an outbreak of something but it’s all dissipated now,’ suggested Mark.

‘Yeah,’ said Paul doubtfully. ‘Even so maybe we should be careful about touching anything.’ The latter was directed at Linda who was crouching down beside the clothes that Alex had dropped and examining them. ‘Hey,’ she said, ‘There’s an identification label on this coat. And a photograph too.’

Paul leaned over her shoulder and stared at the plastic covered badge she was pointing at. The small photo showed a very attractive blonde woman in her late 20s. He could just make out the name. ‘Carol Soames,’ he read aloud. ‘Doctor Carol Soames. I wonder where she is now.’

‘I wonder if she’s still alive,’ said Chris darkly.

‘Hey, has anyone but me noticed something weird about those clothes?’ asked Rochelle.

‘Like what?’ asked Paul.

‘The underwear was inside the coat.’

Paul frowned. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes, she’s right,’ said Linda. ‘They fell out of the coat. Now why would anyone go to the trouble of doing that, especially if they were undressing in a hurry?’

‘Who gives a shit?’ muttered Alex, still casting anxious looks at his fingers as if expecting to see signs of contamination. ‘I just hope I get to run into her before she has a chance to get dressed again.’

‘God, you’re so predictable, Alex,’ said Chris with a grimace. ‘There’s more to life than sex, you know . . .’

‘Yeah?’ Alex’s smile was ugly. ‘How would you know? You’ve never slept with a real man.’

As he said this he turned and gave Mark a challenging stare but Mark just sighed and looked away.

‘Okay,’ said Paul quickly, ‘Can we save the arguments for later? Right now we’ve got more important things to worry about.’

‘Yes,’ said Linda, ‘Like where’s the nearest bathroom. I’m bursting.’

‘So am I,’ said Rochelle. ‘And I’m starving.’

‘Then let’s get moving. We’ll finish checking out this floor then go down to the next one. There’s got to be somebody here.’

‘And what if we don’t find anyone?’ asked Chris.

‘Then we’ll just make ourselves at home until someone turns up,’ said Paul.

‘Paul, what do you think this is?’ Mark was standing next to the sculpture made of different coloured ping pong balls. It was at least eight feet high.

‘It’s obvious, jerk,’ said Alex before Paul could reply. ‘It’s a model of a molecule. The balls are supposed to be atoms. We had one in our science room at high school.’

Paul shook his head. ‘No, I don’t think it is.’

‘Then what is it, wise guy?’

‘I think it’s a model of a chromosome. See how the rows of ping pong balls spiral round each other. That’s the famous “double helix”. I think each represents a separate gene.’

There was silence in the room while they all stared at the model. Then Chris said, in a bleak voice, ‘Genetic engineering.’

‘What?’ asked Mark.

‘Genetic engineering. That’s what they’ve been doing here. And I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all.’

Linda frowned. ‘I don’t get it. What would a genetic engineering lab be doing on an oil rig?’

‘Exactly,’ said Chris. ‘What are they trying to hide?’