It was after midnight when a sweat-stained Max and Wedderkind joined Connors and Allbright in the same prefab unit.
‘We drilled down past that first contact point at one hundred and thirty feet,’ said Max. ‘The bedrock was still white hot when we brought up the core. We’ve drilled clear through the heated area. Down at two hundred and fifty feet the rock sample is normal. It’s a little warm, but it hasn’t been melted.’
Connors looked at Wedderkind. ‘This all sounds like bad news to me.’
Wedderkind held up a calming hand. ‘If he was able to bury himself, it’s obvious he must be able to move around underground – if only to stay out of trouble. At least we know how he does it – he melts the rock and floats through it. It then cools and solidifies behind him.’
‘Great. Which way has he gone – up, down, or sideways?’
‘From what Max has said, it must be sideways.’
‘North, south, east, or west?’
Wedderkind shook his head. ‘We may need to drill several boreholes to check that, but if he stays near the surface, we can pick up his location by more aerial infrared pictures. If he decides to go deeper, the pattern given off by the heat will be too diffuse. And if he cools down, then we’ve got problems. This cutoff zone that is wrapped around him is also zapping the radio-wave detection equipment one would normally use for geological surveys.’
Connors tried again. ‘Isn’t there some kind of instrument that works off shock waves – in the way they trace earthquakes?’
‘Yes – using seismographic techniques. We set up two units this afternoon on either side of the ridge. The waves are supposed to bounce back the way radar does. The readings are completely cluttered up with random echoes. Crusoe is beaming out varying-strength shock waves that are bouncing back and forth off every chunk of rock inside the ridge. We know he’s in there, but that’s about all.’
‘So he’s still ahead.’
‘For the moment,’ said Wedderkind. ‘But at least we now know Crusoe is programmed to avoid unwelcome contacts.’
Connors glanced around the table. ‘I would have thought the whole point of his arrival was to make contact.’
‘We’re proceeding on that assumption,’ said Wedderkind. ‘But that depends on what Crusoe is. If he’s an automated package of instruments, he may be capable of nothing more than “on-off”, “yes-no” responses that would enable him to survive in a hostile environment. His reactions up to now could fit into a framework of low-level instinctual responses – in this case, to avoid any contact which might threaten his functional integrity. If he is a very sophisticated package of machinery, we could expect a more complex range of responses to external stimuli. There is also the more remote possibility that Crusoe could contain some kind of alien life-form. I’m inclined to discount this idea myself.’
‘The question may seem premature,’ said Connors, ‘but have any of your people come to any conclusions about Crusoe’s mission? I know none of us has seen him, but there now seems a real risk that we may never see him at all.’
Wedderkind ticked off the possibilities on his fingers. ‘It can be a one-way static reconnaissance probe like Russia’s Venera, designed to land by parachute on Venus and then transmit back data about its immediate surroundings. It can be a one-trip mobile reconnaissance vehicle like the Lunakhod moon-bug controlled from its point of origin. If that was outside our solar system, it might take years before it received a signal to activate it. It would make more sense to send a preprogrammed vehicle able to monitor its environment and modify its mission accordingly.
‘The third possibility is a two-way mobile version of LEM, the Lunar Module used in the Apollo missions, operating by itself, or in conjunction with a command module – or mother ship – orbiting within the solar system, but not necessarily around Earth, and to which it could return. This type of vehicle could be preprogrammed for its mission, or be remote-controlled from the command ship.’
‘Or be manned,’ said Connors.
‘It could be,’ replied Wedderkind, ‘but we might not be able to verify that.’
‘Could you explain why?’ Up to this point, Allbright had been listening quietly to the exchanges between Connors and Wedderkind.
‘I’ll try, General. In preparing for an event like this, the fundamental problem has always been how the human mind can grasp the concepts of an alien intelligence, or even recognize its existence.
‘There may be biological or physiological limitations that make it impossible. Take the computer – it can perform many of the functions of the human brain, it can calculate, store, recall, and analyse data, but it is incapable of any abstract conceptual processes. Yet can we really grasp the concept of, say – infinity? We now accept the idea of time as the fourth dimension – but how many of us can visualize the fifth, sixth, or even tenth dimension that is theoretically possible? Man lives in a finite world. He needs to know how far, how fast, how large, how heavy…’
‘But nevertheless,’ insisted Allbright, ‘something is physically down there.’ He looked at Connors and then to Wedderkind for confirmation.
‘Yes.’
‘And if we don’t find some way of getting to it,’ said Connors, ‘it could move away from under Crow Ridge.’
‘That’s possible.’
‘What ideas have you got, Arnold?’
‘There’s something I’ve worked out with Max that I’d like to try.’
Max went to the blackboard in the corner of the room and picked up a piece of chalk. ‘We’ve managed to locate a number of cartridge-fired diesel rigs…’ He drew a small circle in the middle of the board, then put two large, shaky concentric circles around it.
‘Around these two rings at one hundred and two hundred yards from the crater, we’re going to drill a series of boreholes fifty yards apart.’ Max spattered chalky dots around the edge of the inner circle. ‘These holes’ll be drilled down to a depth of five hundred feet…’ He jabbed on some more chalk dots. ‘… These here in the outside ring we’re going to sink down to one thousand feet.’
Max tapped one of the dots. ‘Down each hole, we’re going to put an insulated detonator wired to an explosive charge. One hundred pounds in the inner ring, five hundred pounds on the outer ring. The charges will detonate if Crusoe burns his way through the shaft.’
Connors frowned. ‘Do you have to use explosives?’
Wedderkind fielded the question. ‘It’s a calculated risk. Crusoe’s hull must be built to withstand sustained heat and pressure. The charge will be exploded by the molten rock, not Crusoe. But the shock wave will register on his hull, and should produce a reaction. He didn’t like being hit with the drill.’
‘Okay. What do you hope to achieve?’
Wedderkind tapped his glasses back into place. ‘There’s been a logical sequence to his actions up to now. I want to try to check his capability for logical analysis – and I also want to try to convey our intentions to him.
‘If he breaks through the first ring, and then the second, he should register the fivefold increase in the explosive charge. If we were down there, we’d probably conclude there could be a series of rings with progressively stronger charges. I’m hoping he’ll understand that this is a controlled reaction on our part.’
‘To let him know we could blow him out of the ground if we wanted to,’ said Connors.
Wedderkind nodded. ‘And that the safest place is back inside the circle. The whole idea is to let him know we know he’s down there – and that we are not trying to destroy him.’
‘How long is it going to take to organize this operation?’ asked Connors.
Max removed his cigar. ‘If the General will let some of his boys man the rigs, five, maybe six days. Seven at the outside.’
‘Do you have any comments, General?’
‘The cadets have volunteered to carry out any duty assigned to them. However, I would like to ask Mr Wedderkind if he considers this containment operation might endanger the safety of the personnel on the site.’
‘Arnold?’
‘General, we are all risking our lives just being here. Insofar as this plan is concerned, I don’t see any need to evacuate the Ridge.’
‘Max?’
‘No problem…’
‘There’s always the possibility of a reaction from Crusoe,’ said Wedderkind. ‘But no one can predict what that might be. So far, everything points towards the fact that Crusoe is avoiding a confrontation. If his intentions were hostile, they would have been manifestly apparent by now.’
A wintry smile flickered across Allbright’s face. ‘A little while back you advanced the idea that we might find it difficult to understand an alien intelligence. Alien hostility – if such a thing exists, may also take a form we might find difficult to recognize.’
‘That’s a good point,’ said Connors.
Wedderkind spread out his palms. ‘Which proves exactly what I was saying. General Allbright is quite correct. As a human being, I’m programmed to recognize as hostile only those actions which, by their nature, fall within the limits of meaning we have assigned to the overall concept. For example, we might define the ultimate hostile act as the taking of life. To us, life and death are quantifiable states. Life we revere, death we abhor, in varying degrees according to our religion or philosophy. But they are both essentially human states, and, as such, could be beyond the grasp of an alien intelligence.’
‘But surely,’ said Connors, ‘the existence and definition of life must be something that we share with every other sentient being throughout the Cosmos.’
‘Perhaps the same biological definition,’ said Wedderkind, ‘but we also define life as being the period between birth and death. Our attitude to life is related to the death which must inevitably follow. But what if there were no death – but merely a continuing cycle of existence? What if the makers of Crusoe were immortal?’
‘I get the idea,’ said Connors. ‘I just don’t see how it relates to our present situation.’
‘It sprang out of General Allbright’s question. I think what I’m trying to say is that an alien intelligence could profoundly change the circumstances and nature of our existence without being able to understand that the effect might be, in human terms, totally disastrous.’
‘You mean in the way the loss of radar has fouled up the domestic airline situation,’ said Connors.
‘And seriously weakened our capacity to defend ourselves against a surprise nuclear rocket attack,’ added Allbright.
‘They are both limited examples of what I’m getting at,’ said Wedderkind. ‘I was really thinking about the serious long-range effects of more fundamental changes in the Earth’s environment.’
‘Such as?’ asked Connors.
Wedderkind ticked off the possibilities starting with his thumb. ‘De-ionization of the atmosphere – that would let through harmful, probably fatal radiation from the sun. Diminution of the Earth’s gravitational force, so that the atmosphere leaks off into space. This is what may have happened on Mars. Displacement of the Earth’s axis of rotation so that the polar regions shift to the equator. We know it has happened before – millions of years ago, the North Pole was around Hawaii, and the equator ran up through North America at an angle of forty-five degrees a few miles north of Chicago.
‘Disturbance of the Earth’s crust causing the level of the seabed to rise. Think what would happen to the map if the water level rose two hundred feet – permanently.’
Connors stopped him before he got to his little finger. ‘That’s great. The President is going to love all that. I’m supposed to be taking back good news.’
‘They are only ideas, Bob. Coffee talk. Pure speculation – that need go no further than this room. All we’ve got at the moment is a hole in the ground. The important thing is to get those boreholes sunk around Crusoe before he moves too far.’
‘All the same, you could have mentioned some of these ideas before he came down.’
Wedderkind hunched his shoulders and spread out his palms. ‘There was no point, but if I had, was there any way of stopping him?’
There wasn’t much left of the night, but tired though he was, Connors hardly slept at all.
The first of the converted bulldozers came grinding up the dirt road as Allbright walked with Connors and Wedderkind down to the line of red stakes. It was 7 A.M. The sky was absolutely clear.
A yellow Corporation jeep was waiting on the other side of the stakes to take them down to the highway.
‘I imagine you must be glad to get out of here and back to the White House,’ said Allbright.
‘Not entirely. I’ve rather enjoyed being up at the sharp end.’ Connors smiled. ‘Although I must confess I’ll be relieved to get back to a water-based sanitary system.’
Allbright smiled too. ‘There are plans to have that facility available for VIPs by the time you return.’
‘I appreciate the gesture,’ said Connors, ‘but I think we ought to hold off on all the frills until Crusoe is boxed in. It’s absolutely vital we maintain contact. If Crusoe moves out from under Crow Ridge, we’ll be left sitting on top of nothing but the world’s most expensive toilet.’
‘I’ve got a clear picture of the priorities, Mr Connors. Have a safe trip.’
As they passed through the control point, Connors saw that the civilian contractors were already at work setting up the posts for the high chain link fence around Bodell’s land. He also noticed that cadets guarding the gate had got rid of their shotguns.
Down at the base camp on Highway 22, Connors went through the medical checks under Wedderkind’s watchful eye. They included the usual blood and urine samples, cardiogram, and encephalogram. Wedderkind wanted to carry out some research to see if there was any relation between individual brain-wave patterns and people’s physical reactions to Crusoe’s protective field.
‘Are you sure you won’t come back to Washington with me?’ It was the second time Connors had put the question to Wedderkind.
‘Not unless you make it an order.’
‘Arnold, nothing is going to happen here until the end of the week.’
‘Maybe.’ Wedderkind smiled. ‘But I’d never forgive myself if something did and I wasn’t here to see it. In any case, there’s still a lot to organize.’
‘You’ve got competent people here who can handle that.’
‘Bob, the future of the whole world is up there under the ridge, not back in Washington.’
‘I’ll try to remember that. However, for the moment, Washington is where the decisions are made that make or break this project.’
‘I know. That’s why it’s important that you go back there and tell them that everything’s under control.’
It was Connors’ turn to smile. ‘Whose control – ours or Crusoe’s?’
‘Say ours – whatever you may believe privately.’
‘Is there anything special you’d like me to ask for?’
‘Time,’ said Wedderkind. ‘Just as much time as you can get. Everyone back there has been weaned on Hollywood features where some goon solves the secret of the universe in a hundred and ten minutes with the aid of a screwdriver and the love of a good woman. In real life, it always takes a little longer. The answers – if we ever find them – may be incredibly simple, but it may take a long time to realize just how simple they are.’
‘I’ll be back at the weekend.’ Connors laid a hand on Wedderkind’s shoulder. ‘Take care.’
‘Give my love to Charly.’
‘I will.’
‘And promise me one thing.’
‘What’s that?’
‘One day, be a mensch and marry the girl.’
‘I’ll think about it,’ said Connors.
Marion buzzed to tell Connors that the President was ready to talk to him in his private office next to the Oval Room.
‘Bob. It’s good to see you.’
The President’s handshake and voice were warm and friendly, but his face had changed noticeably. Although it had been only a couple of days since Connors had seen the President, he seemed to have aged a couple of years.
Connors’ eyes must have given him away, because the President said, ‘Don’t ask me how I feel. Anne’s been asking me that for the last two weeks. I feel fine, and McVickers agrees with me.’
‘I’m glad to hear it.’ McVickers was the President’s personal physician.
‘A little tired, maybe, but then you look as if you could do with a good night’s sleep yourself.’
‘I’ll get around to it eventually,’ said Connors. ‘What’s it been like so far this week?’
‘The pressures are beginning to build.’ The President sat down and gestured to Connors to do the same. ‘How is Allbright shaping up?’
‘He seems to have everything under control,’ said Connors.
The President nodded. ‘You apparently gave Chuck Clayson the impression that you weren’t entirely happy to have Allbright along on this thing.’
‘In that case, I need to get my face fixed,’ said Connors. ‘Did he say anything else?’
‘No. I suggested your reaction may have been coloured by the fact that you’d never met Allbright before. I didn’t mention our conversation at Camp David.’
‘Good.’
The President fingered the cover of the blue file that lay on the desk in front of him. ‘I’ve read your latest situation report. Did one of your girls –?’
‘No, Greg Mitchell typed it. Was everything clear?’
‘Yes – perfectly.’ The President put on his reading glasses and flipped over several pages.
‘The situation isn’t quite as straightforward as we expected,’ said Connors. ‘But it’s nothing we can’t deal with – given time.’
‘Yes…’ The President took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. ‘That may be the one item we’re running out of.’
Wedderkind was right. They were starting to lean on the project less than two weeks after touchdown.
‘We didn’t get our first people on to the Ridge until four days ago,’ said Connors.
‘I appreciate that.’ The President put his glasses back on and turned over another page of the file. ‘Is there no way you can speed up this drilling operation?’
‘They’re planning to work twenty-four hours a day on that,’ said Connors. ‘But even if we complete ahead of schedule, there is no guarantee that we’ll succeed in forcing Crusoe to the surface.’
‘No…’ The President closed the file, laid his glasses on top of it, and sat back in his chair. ‘If this goes on, we’re going to find ourselves in one hell of a bind.’
‘Are you getting pressure from the Pentagon?’
‘Some of the things they’re saying make sense.’
‘Such as?’
‘Safeguarding our interests in Saudi Arabia – and the Persian Gulf.’
‘Don’t tell me you’ve sent in the Marines.’
‘Not yet, but I have authorized the airlift of a Marine division to Diego Garcia and the transfer of more naval units to the Indian Ocean.’
It was provocative but it made sense. Connors had seen copies of the cables sent by Admiral Kirk, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. The Russians had a big chunk of their blue-water navy in the area. Worried by the impact of the first twenty-minute fade-out on communications, Fraser had ordered Kirk to stay aboard the carrier Lexington and set up a forward command post. Kirk had the authority to make vital tactical command decisions without referring them to Washington.
It was another wise move. Since early morning, it had been impossible to receive or transmit any coherent messages on the long wavelengths. There was now a total, worldwide radio blackout.
‘We’ve talked a lot about setting up the Crusoe Project,’ said Connors. ‘But what we haven’t really touched is your reaction to Crusoe itself. I got the impression on Sunday that we weren’t quite connecting. Do you want to tell me where you stand on this?’
The President looked at Connors, then moved the bottom right-hand corner of his wife’s picture by a fraction of an inch.
‘You don’t have to tell me the truth.’
‘I don’t have to tell you anything.’ The President moved the picture back to its original position.
‘That’s right,’ said Connors. ‘That’s what makes this job so exciting.’
The President got up from his chair and gazed out of the window for a moment, hands clasped behind his back. He turned around and waved Connors back into his seat. ‘Okay, you’ve asked me where I stand on this. It’s a fair question. Whatever the potential gains in terms of scientific and general knowledge, whatever long-term benefit to humanity this contact may represent, those gains are, and must remain, totally subordinate to the maintenance of our democratic system of government, our concept of a free society and a free-enterprise economy, and the continued well-being of the people of the United States as set forth in, and guaranteed by, the Constitution.’
Connors nodded his agreement. Whenever the President used words like ‘democracy’, ‘free society’, and ‘the Constitution’, it meant he was making a speech, not holding a conversation.
‘Our effectiveness as a world power and our defensive capacity are already threatened by this open-ended jamming of the radar and radio frequencies. It’s already started to send bad vibrations through the economy, and if it goes on, it will create chaos on an international scale. Have you seen the reports from our embassies in Europe?’
‘Yes, it’s tough. But there’s nothing we can do.’
‘I know,’ said the President. ‘But we may not be able to conceal Crusoe’s presence indefinitely. If word gets out, we’re going to be held responsible for every hour this disruption is allowed to continue.’
‘In that case, we have to make doubly sure no one finds out he’s in Montana until we work out how to switch him off.’
‘And before the Russians take advantage of the situation.’
‘That sounds like one of Fraser’s ideas.’
‘You suggested something similar.’
‘Yes, but that was specifically related to Crusoe. I don’t think they will make any military moves, not yet anyway. That’s not just because of the time we’ve spent working towards better relations. The risks are too great. The fade-out has left us with one option. Nuclear war. They won’t push for that. Admittedly they’re in better shape on the ground, but the overall effects of the fade-out must still be crippling. There are two things we must remember. First, they have the Chinese along their eastern frontier. In the present situation that’s dynamite. Second, they don’t need to risk a war with us over Europe. If the fade-out lasts several months, Europe might collapse and fall into their hands without a shot being fired. I think the Russians are more worried about what we might do to prevent that happening.’
‘Yes… it’s like getting your fingers caught in a meat grinder. Whichever way you turn the handle it hurts. And it’s all due to your friend Crusoe.’
‘Hang on,’ said Connors. ‘We haven’t even got acquainted yet.’
‘Okay, but now that we’ve started, let’s get things quite clear. Your area of responsibility covers the containment and evaluation of the spacecraft. Containment, in this case, is defined as maintaining total security on this whole operation by the isolation of Crow Ridge and its contents from the rest of the United States. That includes any problems, whatever their nature, contamination or infection – and let’s not underestimate the risks of that. Any side effects, harmful or otherwise. The whole circus is to be confined to that immediate geographical area until every part of Crusoe has been carefully examined. It also means the isolation of everyone physically involved in the project on Crow Ridge until they’ve been checked and rechecked.’
‘Does that include me too?’
‘It could. It depends on what happens when contact is made with whatever is down there.’
‘I’ll remember that.’ Connors decided against mentioning the icecold tingling he’d felt near the crater. Perhaps, without their knowing, Crusoe had got to them already.
‘Evaluation,’ continued the President, ‘is at least straightforward. We need to know what it is, how it works, what its mission is, and, if possible, where it is from.’
‘We’ll do our best.’
‘Then let’s hope that this encounter will turn out to be as peaceful and harmless as you and Arnold have forecast.’
‘That’s not quite accurate,’ said Connors. ‘I’m sympathetic to Arnold’s views, but if you care to check the record, I’ve merely counselled caution. I’ve never opposed any attempt to destroy Crusoe.’
‘Good.’ The President sat down and pointed his forefinger at Connors. ‘As soon as Crusoe was located in Montana, Mel Fraser urged me to set up a special defensive capability, to protect the rest of the United States from any threat from Crow Ridge.’
Connors grinned. ‘What did he tell you to expect – an H.G. Wells-type Martian invasion?’
The President gave a wry smile. ‘I haven’t succumbed to Mel’s Armageddon complex, but some of his arguments were quite persuasive. It would be foolish not to be prepared for every possibility.’
‘I agree with you,’ said Connors. ‘But I disagree with Fraser. The dangers, if any exist, lie beyond those delineated in the dime novel. Arnold is worried that they may even be beyond our comprehension.’
‘That’s an even better reason for not taking any chances. Which is why, for the last seven days, we’ve been ready, at the first sign of trouble, to mount an immediate strike against Crow Ridge.’
‘To take out Crusoe?’
‘If it proved necessary, the strike would include everything and everybody on the Ridge.’ The President’s voice matched the grimness of the prospect. ‘The code name for the operation is CAMPFIRE.’
Connors’ eyes met the President’s. The possibility that Arnold and the others – and himself too – might be risking their lives in such a dramatic fashion had not really occurred to him so forcibly before.
He’d been aware that there were risks, of course, but somehow he couldn’t bring himself to believe that Crusoe was about to perform like a pulp sci-fi creation. As Wedderkind had said over and over again, the real danger lay in their own ill-considered reactions. Connors knew that whatever the ultimate benefits to science and mankind, the fade-out couldn’t be allowed to continue indefinitely. But they needed time. Time to coax Crusoe to the surface. Time to find out all they could. Time to make the right decisions. Now that Fraser had been given his head, it only needed one crackpot to sound the alarm, and the whole project would go up, literally, in smoke.
‘Just how far can we go before we decide we’re in trouble?’ asked Connors.
‘I’ve outlined what our priorities are,’ said the President. ‘It will be up to you to make that decision. You will notify me, then take whatever action is necessary to terminate the project.’
‘And if, for some reason, I am unable to make that decision?’
The President swung his chair round to face Connors squarely. ‘If by that you mean incapacitated in some way, then it will be Allbright’s job. He’s there to give you whatever backup you need.’
It was a shrewd move. Someone had assessed, quite correctly, that Connors might be swayed by reasoned, or even impassioned, scientific argument into keeping the project going beyond the fail-safe point. Then it would be Allbright’s finger on the trigger.
That was why he’d been picked to help Connors run the Ridge. Allbright was there not only to seal off Crow Ridge from the outside world; he was there to make sure that, if necessary, the people on the Ridge stayed there. Permanently.
‘Allbright also has another responsibility,’ said the President. ‘That is to get you and Arnold out fast if you happen to be there when it all goes wrong.’
Yes, maybe, thought Connors. But don’t count on it. Having looked into those hard blue eyes, Connors had the feeling that, if it came to the crunch, Allbright wouldn’t hesitate to include himself and his big palomino on the casualty list.
It was MOODY, one of Allbright’s fourth-year cadets, who, a few hours after Connors had left for Washington, suggested the airport lights. The idea consisted of covering the plateau with a twenty-five-yard-square grid of blue taxi-way lights. The lights, fixed to the tops of wooden stakes, were to be individually powered by car batteries and protected by cutouts.
Since the circular magnetic field around Crusoe would activate the cutouts – and disconnect the circuit – his position could be easily plotted on the grid by noting the blacked-out lights. Any further movement would be indicated visually by a change in the pattern.
Assuming the cutout zone was spherical and constant in size, a decrease in the area of blacked-out lights would indicate that Crusoe was going deeper, and an increase would mean he was surfacing.
The one snag in Moody’s plan was that once the cutout had disconnected the circuit, the lights would stay out even if they were no longer affected by the cutout zone. The research group mulled over various mechanical devices and finally settled for a ‘cutout patrol’ that would periodically reset the cutouts of the blacked-out lights to check on any change in the size of the field.
Max was so happy he forced one of his cigars on the nonsmoking Moody and actually got as far as lighting it. The grid of blue lights would give them Crusoe’s new position and thus enable them to avoid hitting him when they drilled the two encircling rings of boreholes. It would also show them that they weren’t going to spend a week setting an elaborate trap in an empty chunk of rock.
It took a day and a half to get the lights and batteries, but by the time they arrived, the grid of stakes had been planted on a north-south axis.
Starting on the centrelines that ran through the crater, the four teams each took a quarter of the zone and began to work methodically outward. There were a lot of stakes and it was a long time before any of the lights worked. Then slowly, a neat pattern of blue dots started to surround a circle of darkness under which lay Crusoe.
While the grid was being wired up, the Air Force technicians produced a black, stylized contour model of the Ridge, complete with crater and miniature prefab huts. Small blue bulbs represented the lights on the grid, each of which had been numbered so that Crusoe’s position could be given as a map reference.
Wedderkind and the other members of the research group clustered around the model and studied the pattern of blue lights. Crusoe’s new position was about a hundred yards from the original crater. The diameter of the cutoff zone, which could now be measured by counting across the lines of blacked-out lights, was six hundred yards.
Max, who was standing behind the group, chewed up the end of another cigar. ‘How far is he down now?’
Brecetti, the physicist, searched in his pockets for a pencil. ‘Has anyone got something to write on?’ Brecetti was renowned for having done most of his best work on the backs of envelopes and paper napkins. Wetherby found a clean page in his spiral-bound notebook and handed it over.
‘Let’s accept the idea of a spherical field, with a constant radius of – say five hundred yards,’ said Brecetti. ‘The patrol car broke down about a quarter of a mile from the crater not long after the first sighting, in which case it’s reasonable to assume that the cutoff zone was at its maximum radius. So… if the field now has a surface radius of three hundred yards…’ Brecetti scribbled a series of figures. ‘… That means Crusoe is now about twelve hundred feet down.’
‘Jee-zuss,’ growled Max. ‘He’s practically out of sight.’
‘You’re going to have to drill those holes a lot deeper,’ said Wedderkind.
‘And fast,’ growled Max. He relit his stubby cigar, pulled his yellow hard hat down over his eyes, and left.
While the grid of lights was being set up, Max and his roughnecks had been showing the cadet group leaders how to operate a rig. Under the Texans’ watchful eyes, the raw crews began work at midnight, sinking the first holes in the inner and outer rings ahead of Crusoe’s new position.
They worked continuously until Sunday morning, then were replaced by the second eight-hour shift. To keep the rigs working around the clock twenty-four hours a day, Max’s crew racked up a solid eighteen hours a day, working, overseeing, cursing, cajoling, and putting in an occasional boot whenever a cadet began dragging his ass.