When Connors arrived at the medical unit, Milsom was already dressed in the space suit. The two NASA technicians who had been flown up with the suits put the helmet over Milsom’s head and locked it into the collar of the suit. He checked the closure of the gold-plated visor, then lifted it up again. Milsom grinned at Connors.
‘How do you feel?’
‘Great. If you’re interested, the autographs are two dollars fifty cents plus tax.’
Connors shook Milsom’s gloved hand. ‘I’ll buy one when you come back.’
‘In that case, I’d better give you the name of my agent,’ said Milsom.
Connors returned to the command hut and sat down in front of the bank of TV screens that covered the activity around the hatch.
Waiting like a hanging party on the hull platform were Max and his three biggest roughnecks. They would be hauling Milsom out on the rope. Neame and Gilligan would help guide Milsom down into the hatch, Vincent and Hadden were operating the foot-frame to open it, and Spencer was there to co-ordinate the whole operation.
The thing that had threatened to stymie Milsom’s trip was the lack of a suitable light source. Crusoe’s skintight cutoff zone made it impossible to use electrical power, and the total vacuum inside the hatch prevented the use of any simple chemical combustion process. The research group finally came up with a light paddle, the size and shape of a table-tennis bat, and coated on both sides with a supercharged luminous compound. It would provide a dim light source by which Milsom could see if there was a way into the hull.
A parachute harness had been modified to take a chest-mounted ring through which the lifting hook could be clipped. Neame and Gilligan strapped Milsom into it, then guided his arms through the straps of the life-support pack. One of the NASA technicians connected the pack to the suit and checked that all the systems were working.
Spencer clipped the lifting hook to Milsom’s chest, then patted him on the shoulder. ‘Take it easy. Stay out of trouble.’
‘I’ll only be gone five minutes.’
Spencer grinned. ‘Somehow that doesn’t have the same ring as Neil Armstrong’s “one small step” speech.’
Milsom pulled down his gold visor. Sunlight flared off the mirrored surface.
‘Okay, Max. He’s all yours,’ said Spencer.
Max’s crew hauled Milsom four feet into the air. Steadied by Neame and Gilligan, Milsom swung out over the top of the dome. Vincent pulled the lever which set the eight ‘feet’ down on the hull pressure points. The dome rotated and the two circular hatches spun into alignment. On Spencer’s wave, Milsom was lowered smoothly into the black crystal well. Spencer, Neame, and Gilligan leaned over and watched Milsom unclip the rope.
‘Forty seconds to rotation…’
They pulled up the rope. Milsom found handholds and footholds on the honeycombed framework that supported the guide rails and leaned back against one side of the well. He looked up at them and gave them a thumbs-up sign. His dark, golden mask made him look like a one-eyed plump white grub.
The alarm bell jangled from the loudspeaker, then ten seconds later the hatch closed as the two spheres rotated into the hull.
Connors sat back in his chair and breathed out heavily. He looked at his watch. 11:05. Wedderkind lit a cigarette.
Connors turned to Allbright. ‘This must be a bit like waiting for a squadron to return from a mission.’
‘A bit,’ said Allbright.
At 11:10, Vincent rotated the hatches. Spencer, Neame, and Gilligan looked down into the well and were relieved to see that Milsom was still in one piece. He was crouching down at the bottom of the well.
Spencer turned to Max. ‘He’s okay.’ He passed the rope down to Milsom hand over hand.
Milsom made no move to clip the lifting hook on to his harness.
‘What’s wrong with him?’ asked Neame.
‘I don’t know,’ said Gilligan. ‘Maybe he’s hurt himself.’
Spencer turned angrily on Gilligan. ‘How the hell could he do that? The guide rails don’t move when the hatch rotates.’
‘I don’t know how,’ said Gilligan. ‘Maybe he lost his grip when normal gravity returned. If he was upside down – ’
‘Listen, he didn’t fall on his fucking head. He can see us, for Christ’s sake – look!’ Spencer swung the rope towards Milsom. The hook clacked against the visor of his helmet. Milsom shrank back and pushed the rope away.
‘Chris!’ Spencer banged his fist against his chest. ‘Clip on the hook!’
Milsom waved his arm – not towards the rope, but to them.
‘Twenty seconds to rotation…’
Max, Vincent, and Hadden joined them at the hatch and looked down at Milsom. Milsom seemed to shrink away at the sight of them, but waved his arm again.
‘Fifteen seconds to rotation…’
‘What the hell is he trying to say?’ asked Max. ‘Does he want us to come in after him?’
‘That’s what it looks like,’ said Neame.
Max turned to Gilligan. ‘You’re right. He has fallen on his fucking head.’
The alarm bell sounded. Max yanked the rope out of the well. Milsom was still beckoning to them when the hatch closed.
Connors watched Spencer run down the hull towards the communications jeep. He stood in front of the TV camera and came into close-up on Screen 5.
‘Arnold, we’ve got a little problem here. I don’t know how much of it you were able to get on the overhead camera.’
‘We got some of it. Most of the time your heads were in the way.’
‘Yeah, well, we were trying to see what was wrong. Something’s happened to him. We don’t know what.’
‘Could he have broken his arms?’
‘No. His arms move okay, and his reflexes seem normal. He’s waving to us. He just won’t hook up the line so we can pull him out.’
‘What do you plan to do?’
‘Well, we’re going to rotate in five minutes and try again.’
‘Okay. What was it that Max said? We didn’t quite catch it.’
‘He said it looked as if Chris wanted us to come into the hatch.’
‘It could mean he wanted help.’
‘Yes, I know, but he actually had the lifting hook in his hand. All he had to do was clip it on but he pushed it away. And when all six of us were round the hatch he kind of backed down away from us, almost as if he were frightened. I don’t understand it.’
‘Neither do I,’ said Wedderkind. ‘Give it another try.’
‘Oh, hell, yes,’ said Spencer. ‘We’re not just going to leave him in there.’ He went back up on to the hull platform.
Wedderkind eyed Connors and Allbright and stuck out a doubtful lip. ‘I don’t like it.’
‘Max is up there,’ said Allbright. ‘He’ll figure out something.’
Max did. At 11:16 the two hatches swung back into line. Milsom was still there, crouching down in the bottom of the well. He beckoned to Spencer. They dropped the rope down to him. Milsom took hold of the rope but made no attempt to clip the hook to his chest. He waved to Spencer again.
‘Chris!’ roared Spencer. ‘The hook! Clip on the hook!’ He mimed the action, thumping his fist against his chest.
Milsom didn’t respond. It was impossible to see his face behind the reflecting surface of the visor. There was nothing but a circle of sky edged by their own bodies and enclosed by the dark interior of the sphere.
‘Thirty-five seconds to rotation…’
‘Move aside,’ said Max. He grabbed hold of the rope and turned to his crew. ‘Okay, I’m going in to hook up this son of a bitch, so get a good grip on that rope. When I shout, I want to come out of there faster than a cork out of a champagne bottle. Right?’
‘Max – ’ began Spencer.
Max began to slide down the rope. ‘If you want to help, get on the other end of this thing.’
‘Okay, we’ll get it,’ said Vincent. He and Hadden joined Max’s three roughnecks on the rope.
As Max landed beside Milsom, Spencer saw that Milsom had wound the loose end of the rope around the bottom of two of the guide rails and had snapped the hook back on to the line. Max grabbed Milsom, heaved him aside, and began to unravel the rope.
‘Max!’ yelled Spencer.
Max half-turned and threw up an arm to protect himself as Milsom dropped a loop of the rope around his arm and neck, yanked it tight, then fell on top of him like an ungainly white bear. Max hit out with his fists, knees and feet, but the multi-layered insulation of the suit absorbed the force of his blows.
‘Twenty seconds to rotation…’
Max hurled Milsom away from him and managed to loosen the rope around his throat and arm before Milsom came back at him. Max had unclipped the hook from the rope, but the rope itself was still twisted around the guide rails. Milsom fell against him, arms outstretched. It was clear he wasn’t trying to hit Max, he was just trying to hold him down to keep him from leaving the hatch.
‘Fifteen seconds to rotation…’
‘For Christ’s sake!’ yelled Max. ‘Doesn’t anyone have a knife or a gun up there! Why don’t you shoot this son of a bitch!’ Max sent Milsom crashing against the other side of the well. Without his space helmet, Milsom’s skull would have been fractured.
With the rope still locked around the guide rails, the only thing Max could do was climb out hand over hand. Max jumped at the rope and as his hands closed round it, he swung his legs up and booted Milsom in the chest.
In the same split second that Max’s feet connected, the alarm bell began to ring and the rope party made their fatal mistake. As they felt Max’s weight on the rope, they hauled in on the other end. Instead of hanging straight down into the centre of the well, the rope snapped taut and kinked around the edge of the hatch to where Milsom had fastened it at the bottom of the guide rails.
With the last ten seconds ticking away in slow motion, Spencer saw Milsom fall back from the blow and Max twist around on the rope and lose his foothold.
‘Down a bit!’ yelled Spencer.
The rope crew let out two feet of rope. It was one foot too many. That extra twelve inches put Max back within Milsom’s reach. As Max reached up to haul himself out by his hands alone, Milsom flung both arms round Max’s legs and hung on. Milsom, plus the suit, plus the life-support pack was too much even for Max’s muscles. He hung on to the rope but couldn’t bend his arm to get any higher. The veins knotted under the skin of his head and neck.
Spencer stood paralysed with the alarm bell jangling in his ears. Max’s hands were clenched around the rope just below the bottom rim of the hatch – just an arm’s length away. Spencer did not dare reach down and grab Max’s hand. If the hatches closed, the twelve-inch-thick crystal rims would cut through his arm like an electric meat slicer. The alarm bell stopped ringing.
‘Five-’
Spencer saw Max’s left hand scrabble over the smooth rim of the inner hatch.
‘Four-’
The fingernails tried to find a hold in the impossibly fine joint between the inner and outer spheres.
‘Three – ’
Max’s hands began to slip backward on the rope.
‘Two – ’
His face contorted with rage as he launched himself upward, flexing his body back and forth like a marlin on a line in one last desperate effort to shake himself free of Milsom.
‘One-’
Max got one hand on top of the other.
‘Rotation…’
‘You stupid mother – ’
The two circular hatches slid across each other eclipsing the rest of Max’s curse at the same time as they cut the rope.
Connors sat staring at the monitors, unable to accept that he had just witnessed the last thirty-five seconds of Max’s life. It was just not possible. On Screen 3 Spencer was on his knees pounding on the dome with his fist.
Connors knew what the answer would be but he had to ask. ‘Does Max have a chance?’
Wedderkind shook his head silently. He took off his glasses and began to wipe the lenses, head bowed.
‘What will happen? Will it be – ?’
‘Quick?’ Allbright eyed Connors. ‘That hatch depressurizes in sixty seconds. As the air is exhausted he’ll suffocate, and as the pressure drops to zero, the blood in his veins will boil.’
Connors winced. ‘Jesus…’
‘I think Max knew the risk he was taking,’ said Wedderkind.
‘Yes,’ said Allbright. ‘The one thing he didn’t foresee was that Milsom would try and keep him in there.’
‘And anchor the rope to keep us from pulling Max out.’ Connors cursed sharply under his breath. ‘It’s stupid. He should have had a safety rope around him.’
‘Yes, he should have. It’s easy to think of what could have been done. Someone on the platform could have gone in to help Max with Milsom. They might have ended up getting killed as well.’
‘Why?’ asked Wedderkind. He put his glasses back on. ‘Why would Milsom want to do such a thing? He must have known what would happen to Max.’ He lifted his hands. ‘It just doesn’t make sense. Milsom was…’
I know what you mean, thought Connors. Always making jokes. This one had turned sour.
Spencer came back on Screen 5. His face was pale, his voice tense but controlled. ‘Arnold, we’re going to rotate again at eleven twenty-two just to see what the situation is.’
‘Max doesn’t have a chance, Dan.’
‘I know, but we just can’t leave Chris in there. If he’s gone crazy, it’s our fault. Maybe if two people had gone in on separate ropes – ’
‘Dan, now it’s happened, all of us have got a dozen better ways of doing it. Believe me, we feel just as bad about it as you do.’
Connors took over the mike. ‘Let’s just get one thing clear, Dan. Next time, if Chris won’t come out on his own, nobody goes in or tries to help in any way. Is that clear?’
‘Yes,’ said Spencer. Clear but unwelcome.
The hatches were rotated at 11:22. The inner sphere was empty. The only trace that remained of Max and Milsom was the severed length of rope still attached to the bottom end of the guide rails.
The hatch party returned from the plateau and came over with the rest of the research group to the operations room. They sat behind Connors, Allbright, and Wedderkind and gloomily watched the taped replay of Milsom’s entry into the hatch and Max’s rescue attempt. Spencer sat with his head in his hands during the last part.
Connors swung his chair around to face the hatch party. ‘Okay, let’s talk this through and see what we can come up with. Milsom is shut inside the hatch. For five minutes, he is in a zero-pressure, zero-gravity situation. He’s protected by his space suit so nothing can happen to him physically. But something happened, obviously. He experienced something that made him frightened to come out – made him frightened of you.’
Connors held up a hand to forestall Wedderkind. ‘Okay, let’s allow for the fact that we might have misinterpreted his feelings. Perhaps he wasn’t frightened. He didn’t want to come out. At least there’s no argument about that. Yet he wanted you to go in and join him – even though without suits, that was impossible. Fatal.’
‘He may have meant only me,’ said Spencer. ‘We had planned to go in together.’
‘In that case, why did he hang on to Max?’ asked Wedderkind. ‘Chris must have known what would happen if Max was trapped inside the hatch.’
‘I can’t explain why Chris did that.’
‘Somebody or something must have got to him,’ said Connors. ‘If it was bad news, the natural reaction would be to get out and warn us. But he stayed inside. That could be because he’d become part of that bad news himself. Infected, contaminated in some way. He may have thought that if he stayed inside, he could stop it spreading to us.’
‘Perhaps it wasn’t Milsom we saw,’ said Page.
Oh, Mel Fraser would love you, thought Connors. He held back a smile but Page sensed his scepticism.
‘You did suggest he might have been got at.’
‘I did, but if Crusoe was going to use Chris for some kind of takeover bid, he would be no use stuck inside the hatch.’
‘Except as bait,’ said Spencer. ‘That backpack will keep him alive for eight hours. As long as there’s a chance of rescuing him, we have to keep trying.’
‘But Crusoe had no way of knowing that,’ said Connors. ‘We could just leave Chris in there.’
‘But you won’t,’ said Spencer.
‘We will, if I decide that’s the best thing to do,’ said Connors. He felt the chill, negative vibrations of the group.
‘Could I come in with a comment?’ It was Ray Collis, the language scientist. ‘What we haven’t considered is the possibility that what Chris Milsom discovered was not bad news, but good news.’
Good news? Connors found the idea faintly ridiculous.
Collis seemed to share his opinion. He cleared his throat nervously. ‘If Milsom wouldn’t leave Crusoe, it might have been because being inside was infinitely preferable to being outside. It would also explain why he beckoned to the others in an effort to get them to join him.’
‘If it was that fantastic, why didn’t he come out and tell us all about it?’ asked Connors.
‘There could be two reasons. The first is that Milsom may have been unsure he would be able to get back inside – it’s possible we might have tried to prevent him. The second is that perhaps whatever he experienced is something impossible to communicate in words. It may be something that has to be experienced in order to be understood.’
‘Okay,’ said Connors. ‘Why couldn’t he come out and tell us that?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Collis. ‘Maybe the hatch is like a turnstile. You can only go through it one way. He may have undergone an irreversible mental process that makes a return to our world impossible.’
‘Are you also saying that this – process – was so good Milsom was prepared to share it with Max even if it killed him?’
‘That is a problem,’ admitted Collis. ‘I’m not dodging the question. I can only imagine that in relation to the benefits conferred by the experience, Max’s physical death was probably irrelevant.’
‘I doubt if it was to Max,’ said Allbright.
‘Nor to any of us, General, on this side of the hatch.’
Connors exchanged a long look with Wedderkind and wondered why he hadn’t said anything. Did he agree? He turned back to Collis. ‘That’s quite a hefty spiritual kite you’re flying, Ray.’
Collis shrugged. ‘The physical sciences can’t provide all the answers. If you find the word “spiritual” upsetting, consider it as a metaphysical experience.’
‘It doesn’t make much difference,’ said Connors. ‘The only way we can verify your theory is for us to follow Chris through the hatch – in the way the children of Hamelin followed the Pied Piper into the mountain. When do we stop, when there are none of us left?’
‘That could be the reason why we were allowed to open the hatch in the first place,’ said Collis. ‘But how many of us are prepared to risk losing this uncertain life in search of good news in the next?’
‘Exactly,’ said Connors. ‘It’s a nice idea, Ray, but I don’t think it gets us any nearer to solving our immediate problem – which is what to do about Chris.’ He looked at his watch. ‘He’s got enough oxygen till seven – is that right?’
‘Yes. But seven is the absolute limit,’ said Spencer.
‘Okay, I suggest the best thing for you to do is to rotate the hatch every fifteen minutes starting at twelve-thirty, just in case Chris reappears. Anything to add, Arnold?’
‘No, that’s fine.’
Connors patted Spencer on the shoulder and walked with him to the door. ‘I know how you feel, but don’t take the whole thing on yourself.’ He dropped his voice. ‘One other thing. If you’d been on that rope with ten seconds to go and Milsom around your feet, I wouldn’t have stuck my arm in that hatch – and Max wouldn’t have either.’
Spencer bit his lip on what he was going to say and nodded instead.
The meeting broke up, leaving Connors alone with Allbright and Wedderkind. Connors called the monitor hut and got them to pipe in a second replay of the whole disastrous sequence. As he watched Max’s life end for a third time, Connors thought about Collis’ idea. It was interesting, but not the kind of thing he could take to the President. He swung his chair away from the screens and found Wedderkind watching him.
‘Yes,’ said Connors. ‘I was thinking that if I was asked to describe our progress on this project, I’d say that every time we open one can of beans, all we find inside it is another can.’
‘We have two decisions to make,’ said Connors. ‘One, do we go for a second insertion, and two, should we tie the next candidate down to keep him from leaving the hatch?’ Connors sat back while Allbright and Wedderkind mulled over their answers.
‘Number Two is easier,’ said Wedderkind. ‘We could lock our man into a safety harness anchored to the guide rails.’
‘It sounds like a real ball and chain job.’
‘It would have to be.’
‘I think we’re getting a little off course,’ said Allbright. ‘If whoever goes into the hatch becomes so deranged as to require this treatment then it may be safer for us to leave him there.’
‘Does that mean you think we shouldn’t try to find out what happened to Milsom?’
‘It would cut down our casualty rate – and it might save us a lot of problems,’ said Allbright.
‘General, Milsom’s disappearance means that there is a way into Crusoe. It means there is a chance for us to try and unlock some of its secrets. For a scientist, that prospect is irresistible. That hatch is like the doorway to a twentieth-century version of Aladdin’s cave. A treasure house of technology. Why, just the power unit alone might provide the answer to our energy problems. And think what it would mean to the Air Force if we could discover how Crusoe causes the radar fade-out.’
‘I’m glad you finally agree with me, Arnold.’ Connors tried not to smile at Wedderkind’s political somersault. ‘Let’s get back to basics. Do we go for a second insertion?’
‘Yes, I’ll go.’
‘Arnold, you’re not going anywhere. If you had to carry that backpack you’d need an armour-plated truss.’
Wedderkind’s mouth turned sour.
‘General?’
‘You have one more space suit and two volunteers.’
‘That was yesterday.’
‘Then let’s check them out.’
Checking out the backup men took hardly any time at all. Neither Vincent nor Gilligan wanted to try out the hatch. Since Vincent was a civilian Air Force employee, Allbright couldn’t make it an order even if he had wanted to, and Gilligan wasn’t even on the payroll. That left the USAF technicians and the five squads of cadets. Connors was mulling over Allbright’s offer to call for volunteers when Spencer arrived and got him off the hook.
‘Are you sure you want to go?’
‘Yes. It’s not a snap decision. Chris and I planned to go in together way before you started picking names out of a hat.’
‘It wasn’t that haphazard. You have a family.’
‘So had Max.’
‘You need a better reason than that for volunteering.’
‘I’m not volunteering, I’m laying it on the line. The other three only had six months’ astronaut training. I had a full year.’
‘That was three years ago,’ said Wedderkind.
‘The project owes me this trip. I was the one who opened the hatch.’
‘No one can argue with that.’
‘Besides which, I know Chris better than anyone else here. If he needs handling, I’m the best person to do it.’
‘Arnold?’
Spencer didn’t give him a chance. ‘Arnold knows ‘I’ve got the qualifications and the medics can tell you I’m fit enough.’
And pushy, too. Connors turned to Allbright. ‘Would you like to try and get a word in edgeways?’
Allbright looked at his watch. It was nearly two o’clock. ‘How are things out there?’
‘There’s no sign of Chris. We’ve decided to rotate the hatch every half hour instead of every fifteen minutes. We don’t want to jam up the works. Those two spheres have probably spun round more times this morning than they have in the last ten years.’
Allbright looked at Connors. His eyes said it all.
‘Okay, Dan. Stand by. We’ll let you know.’
‘If I’m going to go, I’d better start getting into that suit. It takes time.’
‘I’m not making any promises,’ said Connors. ‘But if you want to try it on for size, go ahead.’
‘I’ll need Arnold’s authorization.’
‘And he’ll need mine,’ said Connors. ‘Tell them to phone me.’
Spencer left.
‘What do you think, General? Should we go again?’
‘Let me ask you a question. If you lose Spencer, will you try a third insertion, and after that a fourth, fifth, and sixth?’
‘No. I think I’d probably stop right there. How would the Air Force evaluate this kind of situation?’
‘Well, in the planning of any operation, you establish what we call an acceptable loss rate of men and aeroplanes. It usually bears a direct relationship to the strategic or tactical value of the operation. On this project, we don’t know how much there is to discover, so it’s difficult to assess the value of any particular mission. In that kind of situation, one has to set an arbitrary figure. You appear to feel that, in this case, the acceptable loss rate is three. In the circumstances I’ve described, it might be argued that even that is one too many. I’m sure Mr Wedderkind understands what I mean.’
‘I know we could draw a blank or hit a bonanza,’ said Wedderkind. ‘Whether either is worth another life, I can’t say. If one is going to be coldly scientific, one can’t draw any firm conclusions from Milsom’s reactions. A sample of one is useless. The experiment has to be repeated. What happened to Max, regrettably, doesn’t count. We have to try again.’
‘That’s what I think,’ said Connors. ‘General?’
Before Allbright could answer, the phone rang. It was the medical unit. They wanted to know whether they should put Spencer in the space suit.
‘Yes,’ said Connors.
Wedderkind put the phone back on the hook. ‘Do you think we’ve made the right decision?’
‘He’s fit, he’s qualified, he feels responsible – and he’ll never forgive us if we say “No”,’ said Connors. ‘Let him go.’
When Spencer was ready, Connors drove over to the medical unit with Wedderkind.
‘Does it fit?’ asked Connors.
‘Tailor-made.’
‘Dan,’ said Wedderkind, ‘once that hatch closes, you are going to find yourself, quite literally, in the dark. None of us knows what happens in there, so you’re going to have to play this whole thing by ear. What we want you to do is to stay inside the hatch – unless some unforeseeable condition makes that impossible.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll hang on tight.’
‘Good. You’re due to insert at fifteen-thirty. We’ll rotate at fifteen thirty-five, at which time we expect to lift you out. Now –’ Wedderkind spread his hands. ‘If something does begin to go wrong, ah, perhaps there may be some degree of physical or mental disorientation, ah – ’
‘I know what you’re trying to say,’ said Spencer.
‘Good. What we want you to do is write down as much as you can on this.’
Page showed Spencer a clipboard with a pad of black paper. A chubby pen was attached to the board by a plastic line. ‘This may be the world’s first luminous pen,’ said Page. ‘It’s really more like an oversized eyedropper. You squeeze out the paste as you write. Write in largish capitals. The paper is porous to prevent it smudging, and the edge of the clipboard is luminous so you can see where to write.’
Spencer tried out the pen.
‘We are going to hang this pad inside the well,’ said Wedderkind. ‘If, for any reason, there is not enough time to write whole words, we want you to use this simple code: X – for danger. O – no danger, keep opening hatch. L – internal light source. M – contact with Chris. If Chris is alive, put a circle around the M. If you find a way into Crusoe, put a dot inside the O. If you find no way in, put a line across it. Have you got that?’
‘Yes. Supposing I do make contact with Chris and find he’s in a bad situation? Can I leave the hatch to help him?’
‘The answer is “No” – but I’m probably wasting my breath telling you that. Naturally we want both of you out safely. The really important thing is to give us as much information as you can. That’s absolutely vital. Don’t let us down, Dan.’
‘Okay. I’ll do my best.’
On the hull platform, a new snap-shut lifting hook had been fitted on to the severed rope. Spencer clipped it on to the chest loop of his safety harness. The time was 15:28.
Neame had taken over command of the hatch party. He patted Spencer’s shoulder. ‘Just hang on tight to those rails and stay loose.’
Spencer lowered the visor of his helmet. The NASA suit technician checked the life-support pack and watched closely as Spencer pressurized his suit.
15:29. In the operations room, Connors sat half-turned away from the bank of screens. He had thought about going up on to the platform but had decided to stay out of the way. On either side of him, Allbright and Wedderkind remained annoyingly calm, their eyes fastened on the main screen.
At 15:30, Vincent rotated the two spheres and Spencer was lowered in through the circular hatch. As the rope was hauled clear, Neame leaned in and fastened the black notepad and pen to the top of the guide rails where it could be easily retrieved.
‘Twenty-five seconds to rotation…’ With Max’s death, Neal Zabrodski’s tape-recorded voice had acquired a sinister, relentless quality.
Spencer found handholds and footholds on the guide rail supports and pulled himself clear of the raised disc on the floor of the sphere. In a few seconds it would swing around up over his head.
‘Twenty seconds to rotation…’
What are we doing? Connors asked himself. He had come to regard Crusoe as a huge, half-buried technological, cultural – even intellectual – time bomb slowly ticking away in their midst. And there they were, tinkering around with it like a bunch of blind ants.
For the scientists, the project was a Fourth of July treat but Connors was convinced that none of them were within a million miles of understanding the how, what, and why of Crusoe.
The alarm bell rang. Ten seconds.
‘Five-four-three-two-one-rotation…’
As the hatches moved out of line, Connors saw Spencer raise his right thumb.
Spencer saw the circle of daylight become lemon-shaped, then rapidly diminish and disappear in under a second. An impenetrable darkness filled the sphere. He looked up and saw the luminous pale green line that marked the edge of the clipboard. The burden of his backpack and the weight of his body began to ebb away as the hatch became an integral part of Crusoe’s zero-gravity field. Spencer reached up and touched the pad with his finger. The pad floated away from him, slowly rotating on the end of its invisible line.
Gradually, his eyes became accustomed to the darkness. He could now see the dim outlines of the guide rails that lined the well, and above his head, he could make out the raised disc that had been at the bottom of the sphere before rotation. The glow was not coming from there, it was coming through the circular hatch, now under his feet.
Very carefully, he turned head over heels to investigate the source of the light. They had been right. Both spheres rotated to bring the hatches into line, giving access to Crusoe’s interior.
He inched his way down one of the guide rails towards the light filtering through the five-foot-wide hatch. There was no point in plunging through headfirst until he saw the layout. Perhaps he might see Chris down there. Or was it up there? As Spencer clung to the thick, double rim of the hatch, he began to lose his sense of direction. The light was coming from stars. Millions upon millions of stars…
Spencer retreated back inside the hatch. Something was happening inside his head. He could hear voices calling to him soundlessly. His whole body seemed to be cooling, his heartbeat was almost imperceptible. Breathing was no longer necessary. He became aware of the texture and depth of his skin, the porous structure of his cheekbones. He could feel, three-dimensionally, each tooth in his skull and jaw, every bone in his body, held together by tendons and interwoven, fibrous muscle. It was as if his mind’s eye had become an electron microscope through which, in one blinding glimpse, every particle of his cumbersome physical self had been revealed.
Spencer knew that his consciousness was expanding, knew that, at any moment, his mind would break free from his body, knew why Milsom had hung on to Max – and why he himself could not return. Wedderkind’s words echoed faintly out of a past that seemed to be receding from him at the speed of light. A message… He had promised to leave a message. Spencer unclipped the luminous pen and wrote swiftly in large capital letters, using the prearranged code, then added four brief words. They were pitifully inadequate, but someone might understand. Ray Collis perhaps…
Spencer let go of the pen and the clipboard, turned over, and eased himself down towards the circular hatch in the bottom of the sphere. Beyond, the stars were glowing with a clarity and brilliance he had never seen before. He floated, arms outstretched, braced against the rim of the hatch and felt his brain swell up and press for a brief, frightening moment against the inside of his skull. It was the last physical sensation his brain recorded, for, as Spencer launched his body headfirst into eternity, his mind mushroomed painlessly through the top of his skull and soared unhindered into the cool, welcoming stillness of infinite space.
At 15:36, Vincent rotated the spheres. The two hatches slid into line. The well was empty. Spencer had gone. Neame reached in and pulled out the clipboard. The squeezy pen dangled on its cord. That, at least, was one good sign. Neame wrapped the clipboard in a polyethylene bag and sent it down to the monitor hut.
Zabrodski made a videotape of Spencer’s luminous message and piped it in to the main screen in the operations room. Neame’s hatch party had stayed on Crusoe. The rest of the research group clustered around Connors, Allbright, and Wedderkind, and studied the words on the screen.
‘The first part is simple enough. No danger. He’s emphasized that by underlining the circle,’ said Wedderkind.
‘What was the dot, Arnold?’
‘That means a way into Crusoe. L – that’s good. An internal light source. The magnetic field that is making life difficult for us could be localized around the area of the hatch, to act as a barrier. Like invisible armour plate.’
‘SPACE – what does that mean?’ asked Connors. ‘Room to move around inside the hull?’
‘It could be. We talked about the possibility that the hatch might only open on to a storage well into which Friday would be slotted in his folded position.’
‘ANSWER…?’
‘I don’t quite get that,’ said Wedderkind. ‘He could mean he found the answer to Milsom’s disappearance. Or you could read it as ANSWER EVERYTHING.’
‘ANSWER to EVERYTHING.’ suggested Brecetti.
‘To what?’ asked Lovell. ‘Crusoe’s mission? It hardly seems likely after five minutes.’
‘Perhaps EVERYTHING is by itself,’ said Collis. ‘Access to everything inside Crusoe. Below the hatch is SPACE where the ANSWER to the questions about Crusoe can be found. The space provides access to EVERYTHING within it.’
‘And FOLLOW?’ asked Connors.
‘That can be read as an injunction – he wants us to follow him, or it could mean he had decided to follow Chris’ trail.’
‘The M is for Milsom,’ said Wedderkind. ‘The circle around it means Chris is still alive. That explains why Dan left the hatch.’
Connors tapped the circled MX. ‘What about this? Does it mean that Max is alive too?’
Wedderkind raised his eyebrows in sync with his shoulders. ‘If we are to accept the logic of the rest of the message, the answer to that is “yes”.’
‘Which we know is impossible.’
‘Unless the instrument readings were wrong.’
‘That’s impossible too,’ said Page. ‘We double-checked. We couldn’t have made a mistake.’
Wedderkind shook his head. ‘There is no way Max could survive in a total vacuum. No way.’
Collis began with an apologetic smile. ‘What you really mean is that there is no way Max could survive in the physical sense.’
‘That’s the only way that counts,’ said Allbright sharply.
Collis looked hurt. ‘Nevertheless he may still exist in some paranormal state.’
‘If that is the explanation,’ said Connors, ‘then it probably means we’ve lost Dan too.’
Allbright pointed at the TV screen. ‘Mr Collis, are you suggesting this a message from the other side?’
‘General, I’m not sure where, or who it’s from.’
‘Well, I’m sure of one thing,’ said Connors. ‘No one else is going in.’
Neame’s hatch party continued to rotate the two spheres every half hour. Just before six that evening, Connors drove up on to the Ridge with Allbright. They went up on to the hull platform and gazed down into the black empty well.
‘Thirty seconds to rotation…’
‘How long can they hold out now?’ asked Connors.
‘Chris’ oxygen will run out in an hour. Dan’s will last till eleven-thirty tonight. I’ve spoken to Arnold. We’re going to rotate every half hour till seven-thirty, then every hour after that.’
‘And if there’s nothing at eleven-thirty?’
‘We’ll make one last try at midnight, then we’ll wrap it up,’ said Neame.
Connors wasn’t sure that he wanted Milsom and Spencer rescued. Despite their instructions, Spencer had left the hatch. Milsom’s behaviour was baffling, and if Spencer did bring him out, there was the question of his responsibility for Max’s death. Collis’ suggestion of some paranormal influence was difficult to grasp, and only sounded like more trouble.
Connors knew he was falling into the old earthbound science fiction trap, but if Milsom and Spencer did reappear with discernible internal modifications, then he, Allbright, and Wedderkind might have to take the decision to destroy them. Yes… It would be a lot easier all around if Milsom and Spencer kept their heads down.
Connors turned to Max’s three roughnecks. ‘I guess you’d like a break.’
‘If you can ship out somethin’ to eat, we just as soon hang on. Hell, we ain’t hauled a thing out of there yet.’ It was Lee Ryder, the one who liked slugging cars with a sledgehammer.
‘Of course.’
‘Oh, another thing,’ said Lee. ‘We heard a buzz that Max might still be in one piece down there. Is that straight?’
‘I wish it were,’ said Connors.
‘No chance, huh?’
‘Not even a million to one, Lee.’
Lee nodded soberly, then jerked his thumb at Crusoe. ‘Max never reckoned much on fooling around with this damn thing… Yep…’ course, I guess you and the Fat Man must have the next step in mind, but if those two don’t come out by midnight, I’d fill that hatch full of nitro and stand back. When he tips that over, it’ll blow his ass right out of the ground.’
‘Stick around,’ said Connors. ‘We may end up doing just that.’