During the early part of the week, more tests were carried out on Crusoe’s hull to find out what he was made of. There were no reactions to acid tests, the hardest cutting tool melted within seconds without even scratching the surface, and the searing flame of a thermic lance left the hull unscorched. The black crystal absorbed the intense heat like desert sand devouring rain.
An attempt to scan Crusoe’s internal structure by means of sound waves, X-rays and a laser beam also ended in failure. The black crystal hull absorbed all three without producing even the ghost of an echo. The results set off some lively argument between members of the research group. They could see and feel Crusoe; yet, if they were to believe their instruments, there was nothing there – just a mysterious hole in the facade of the physical universe. The group took the instruments apart and checked every component.
Another puzzling discovery was that the spectrographs of Crusoe’s superhard hull revealed several diamondlike characteristics.
‘Have you any idea how much that adds up to?’ asked Milsom. He was having coffee in the canteen with Spencer and Tomkin, the zoologist. ‘A rare black diamond one hundred feet across and maybe fifty feet deep? That must be about twenty-two zillion carats. You know, if we just sat here and quietly cut him up, everybody on Crow Ridge could be a millionaire. MRDC could even end up with a quotation on Wall Street.’
‘Forget it,’ said Spencer. ‘It’s probably a synthetic silicate, but about a thousand times tougher than our best.’
‘No romance. That’s your trouble. No imagination…’ Milsom sipped his coffee. A thought struck him. ‘Jeez – I wonder if you can buy shares in this outfit?’
Spencer shook his head resignedly and turned to Tomkin. ‘This ding-a-ling didn’t really work for NASA, he’s a survivor from Laugh-In.’
Having attempted to analyse the composition of the hull, the scientists turned it over to the systems engineers for a second, microscopic inspection. Milsom, who had moments of lucidity between laughs, was convinced that the ten-foot-wide dome was the thing to watch, despite the fact that an earlier examination had revealed no separation between the dome and the hull. Now, there was an incredibly fine joint. So fine, in fact, that it was only visible under a powerful lens.
Milsom called Neame and Gilligan over to check his findings.
‘That’s a good fit.’ Gilligan handed the jeweller’s eyepiece back to Milsom.
‘Even so, I don’t know how we missed it before. We didn’t go over the whole hull, but I did check around the dome. It was the obvious place to look.’
Spencer squatted down beside them and ran his palm over the dome.
‘What do you think, Chris?’
‘I think we ought to put some sighting marks on it,’ said Milsom. ‘A cross on the dome, and matching register marks on the hull.’
Neame drove away and came back with several reels of masking tape, newspaper, and white cellulose spray paint.
‘What do you want me to do?’ asked Milsom.
‘Nothing,’ said Neame. He had a mania for neatness.
Milsom sat back and watched as Neame stuck down arrow-straight strips of masking tape and newspaper and sprayed matching white bars on to the dome and hull. When the paint was dry, Neame let Milsom help him strip off the paper and masking tape.
Spencer got the monitor hut to make a videotape record of the sighting marks using the overhead camera in the balloon. The tape was looped, so they could run it continuously and intercut later recordings for instant comparison on the same screen. If the markings appeared to ‘jump’ it would mean that the dome had moved in relation to the hull.
The three of them went over to the canteen for a cup of coffee.
‘Which way do you think it’s going to go?’ asked Neame.
‘I can see only two possibilities,’ said Milsom. ‘The dome could be the top of a cylinder that rises vertically out of the hull, or it’s part of a sphere – in which case it will have to rotate like the ball turret on those old B-17s. My money is on the sphere.’
‘What do you think that is, the accommodation section?’ asked Spencer.
‘It’s either that or just the way in,’ said Milsom. ‘Let’s sketch it out.’ He reached for a paper napkin and clicked up the point of his ball pen. He drew two lemon shapes which he labelled ‘A’ and ‘B’, then added a circle to each and arrows to show direction of rotation.
‘Since Crusoe won’t let us dig him up, we have to assume that Arnold’s guess at his shape is correct. It doesn’t actually affect our problem with the hatch. Take A – the dot in the middle is the axis of rotation. There could be a hole right through the sphere giving you access to both sides of the craft. To open, the sphere rotates through ninety degrees.
‘In B, there is only one way into the sphere – and it rotates through one hundred and eighty degrees to open. The sphere could also rotate on more than one axis, which would give you access to and from several points within the hull.’
‘Yes, that’s good,’ said Spencer.
‘Except that I don’t know what we’re all getting excited about,’ said Milsom. ‘If that dome does move, it can only be because something inside is going to come out.’
‘Or someone,’ added Spencer.
‘Not necessarily,’ said Neame. ‘Crusoe might open up to let us in.’
Milsom exchanged a glance with Spencer. ‘You mean like those plants that catch flies?’
‘It doesn’t have to be a trap. It could be a self-opening birthday present.’
‘That’s a pretty wild idea, Rog. When did you dream that up?’ asked Spencer.
Neame shrugged. ‘I don’t know. It just occurred to me.’
Connors and Wedderkind arrived back on the Ridge in time for a late supper. Spencer told them about the progress on the hatch, but didn’t pass on Neame’s theory.