Fade Out (37 page)

‘Now that's a real cultural can of worms you just opened up,' said Connors. ‘We could spend the rest of the century arguing over what we were going to load them up with. Poulenc or Patti Page? Hamlet or Mike Hammer?'

‘If they are mindreaders, maybe they know everything we know,' said Brecetti. ‘Including the people you just mentioned.'

‘So that saves us one problem,' said Wedderkind. ‘We're still left with the one we started with. We are always calculating the time it would take us to travel to Alpha Centauri, but suppose they came from a more distant star? Maybe a hundred thousand light years away. In galactic terms, that's just around the corner. They could have started travelling before the dawn of Man. What right have we to interrupt that journey?'

‘Good point,' said Connors. ‘I don't know how to answer that.' He looked at the others, ending with Max.

Max studied the chewed end of his cigar, then shrugged. ‘Don't look at me,' he said. ‘I just dig the holes round here.'

‘True,' said Connors. ‘But now you know what the problems are, how about coming up with a few practical suggestions? If we could pin Friday down, say for a week, that would give us time to get a good crack at Crusoe. Right, Arnold?'

‘Yes, we might not even need that long.'

‘Exactly,' said Connors. ‘I think the answer's going to be a combination of science, cunning and brute force.'

Max stood up, put his hard hat on and pointed his cigar at Connors. ‘I'll take that as a compliment.'

In the self-defensive art of jujitsu, the strength of the attacker is employed to defeat him. It was this idea that triggered the plan Max and Wedderkind came up with. Like Max, the plan had a straightforward, brutal effectiveness that made Wedderkind wince. But the chances of success looked good. It was cheap, and required little preparation. Best of all, it used Friday's own power to spring the trap.

Connors approved the plan, told Allbright what was happening and secured his agreement. Wedderkind and the research group had still not worked out whether Crusoe was controlling Friday or vice versa, but there had been no reaction by Crusoe to the previous attempt to hijack Friday, so there was no reason to expect trouble now.

The titanium steel frame required was put together in the workshop by Air Force technicians, loaded on to a jeep and left covered with a tarpaulin.

On another jeep they fixed a remote-controlled TV camera on a pylon mounting, and wired it to a twenty-one-inch monitor. Both faced backward, and the screen of the TV set was flush with the rear of the vehicle.

Spencer and the other systems engineers went to work on Crusoe's hatch. They replaced their own unscientific feet with a set of adjustable weights and, in a series of controlled experiments, got the two spheres opening to order.

The technicians then built a tubular steel frame which fitted on to the hull around the dome. The frame was held in place by suction pads and ballast. Fitted to the frame were precisely weighted ‘feet' linked to a timing device and operated by compressed air.

All the frame operator had to do was throw a lever and the eight ‘feet' planted themselves on the pads in the correct sequence and with the required pressure. Connors and Wedderkind went up on to the hull to watch it being tested. It worked perfectly. When the pressure was applied, Crusoe opened up obediently, the two spheres rotating into line with a quiet, smooth hiss.

The next step was a more thorough examination of the hatch. Two of the monitor hut technicians drove out with a portable videotape recorder and TV camera. The plan was to lower the camera into the hatch so that every detail could be recorded and studied carefully. All that showed up on the screen was a dancing pattern of dots and lines. A magnetic field within the hull was interfering with the magnetic elements in the TV system.

‘
Scheisse,'
said Wedderkind, in a rare outburst of temper.

‘Will some photographs do?' asked Connors.

‘They'll have to, but this means that we won't be able to run a TV camera or a radio inside the full and
that
means we won't know what is happening until whoever goes in comes out.'

Nicholas, one of the Air Force photographers, brought his camera bag up on to the hull. He took a good look inside the hatch to make an estimate of the available light and set his Hasselblad for l/50th at F/ll. He fitted a long bulb release and mounted it on a tripod. The spheres rotated shut. Spencer waited five minutes, then opened Crusoe up again. Nicholas turned the camera tripod upside down, lowered it into the hatch, and splayed the legs wide apart so that they rested against the rim of the hatch. He took the first picture, then moved the tripod legs round to take a second picture. With each succeeding exposure, the movement of the working parts became more and more sluggish.

Spencer, who was on the hull operating the foot-frame for Nicholas, allowed his mind to wander from the stopwatch to Nicholas' exposure problems. Without any warning, the override cycle cut in, and the two hatches started to close with the tripod and Hasselblad hanging down inside. Nicholas managed to grab one leg of the tripod but lost his balance as the dome rotated under his feet. Before he could pull the camera clear, the outer and inner rims of the hatch slid one over the other, shearing through the heavy tubular legs of the tripod like a florist's scissors through daisy stalks.

Spencer helped Nicholas to his feet. ‘Are you okay?' Nicholas nodded, white-faced. ‘You're lucky you didn't have your arm in there.'

As soon as the five-minute closed cycle had expired, Spencer rotated the hatches open again. Nicholas wired a Nikon for flash, and whacked off two rolls of film looking down into the black crystal interior of the inner sphere. The prints were sharp, but black on black is difficult to photograph.

The partial failure of the photographic sortie was reported to Wedderkind. The answer, he suggested, was to find someone who could draw.

Davis, the biologist, turned out to be the fastest pencil on the site. He was, as he said, really better at flowers, but his scientific background and trained powers of observation put him ahead of the other two artists they discovered, a cadet who was good at caricatures, and a technician who'd done a stint in the background department of MGM's cartoon studios before joining the Air Force.

Davis went to work, with the four systems engineers taking it in turn to look over his shoulder to aid him in interpreting the mechanical details.

Later that night, they sat down around a table in the operations room and studied Davis' sketches and the pictures Nicholas had managed to take from the outside.

Milsom pointed out to Connors the circular structure that lined the interior of the hatch. ‘We're pretty certain that this whole section contrarotates as the sphere spins shut.'

‘So that Friday stays the right way up.'

‘Yes. His legs fold in and engage these eight vertical sections. They must act like guide rails in which he slides up and down.'

‘How?' asked Connors.

‘Probably by magnetic repulsion and attraction,' said Milsom. ‘From this disc…' He picked up another of Davis' drawings and pointed to a raised disc at the bottom of the sphere directly opposite the circular hatch.

‘Is that forty-five-second override on the hatch going to be a problem?' asked Connors.

‘It doesn't make things any easier,' said Neame. ‘We plan to build a wooden platform over the dome with a hole in the middle so as we can get straight into the
hatch. Forty-five seconds gives us ample time to get somebody in and out of the hatch.'

‘A lot depends on what footholds we can find inside,' said Spencer. ‘It's ten feet from the lip of the hatch to the bottom of the inner sphere.'

‘How about lifting tackle on an overhead beam?' suggested Gilligan. He was also from NASA. ‘We could use a clip-on helicopter rescue harness and just pull them straight out.'

‘Feasible?' asked Connors.

‘Yes, that'll work,' said Spencer.

‘But before we get that far, there are several important measurements that need to be made with the nonelectrical instrument package that Professor Lovell, Jo Armenez, and I have assembled,' said Page. ‘It will give us an atmospheric analysis, pressure, temperature, internal gravity – and the direction and degree of movement of the inner hatch.'

‘It must be an airlock,' said Spencer. ‘Which Crusoe pressurizes to match the atmosphere of whatever planet he's on. So there must be a halfway pressurizing or depressurizing stage before the hatch rotates completely and opens up to let Friday into the hull… I bet there's some real goodies down there.'

‘Yeah,' said Milsom. ‘I can hardly wait.'

‘Haven't you overlooked something?' asked Page. ‘These space suits you propose using are designed for use at zero atmospheric pressure. What do you plan to do if we find the pressure inside Crusoe is much greater than ours? Whoever goes in will be crushed to death.'

‘You're right,' said Wedderkind. ‘The pressure
is
the vital factor. Frankly, I don't know what we could do given that situation.'

Page looked pleased.

That evening, when it came to the choice of who was going to dress up in space suits, Milsom found that there was no rush to draw straws. Several people had apparently decided this was one occasion when losing was smarter. Connors and Wedderkind processed the list of possibles.

The real standout choices were among the engineers. Some years before, Milsom, Spencer, Vincent, and Gilligan had all been selected for astronaut training, then had been dropped from the course as NASA cut back its manned-flight program.

Milsom, the first in line, was single. Spencer had volunteered but was married. So was Gilligan, but as he had no family, he had offered to go in the Number Two spot – if they couldn't find anyone else. Vincent and Hadden, the two Air Force engineers, had both been primed by Allbright. Vincent was single, Hadden the father of four.

‘So it looks like Milsom as eager beaver, Vincent
as Number Two, with Gilligan as backup man,' said Connors.

Once Friday had been immobilized, they would have forty-eight hours to explore Crusoe's interior. That was the longest single period Friday had spent on one of his walks. There was no way to predict what might happen if that time was exceeded. Friday's failure to return might trigger off a whole new mission sequence, including takeoff. The idea was to get in, explore as much of the interior as possible, then get out before the deadline expired.

That at least was the thinking on Sunday night.

At dawn, the air was crisp with autumn prairie freshness. On the horizon, layers of Disney-pink clouds were spiked on the rays of the rising sun.

Connors smelled the coffee as part of his dream before he woke up to find Wedderkind shaking him.

‘He's out.'

Connors yawned hugely, stretched, then sat up on one elbow. Wedderkind had brought him a breakfast tray.

‘Great,' yawned Connors. He hauled himself up straight.

Wedderkind put the tray on Connors' lap, switched on the TV monitor and sat down. Friday stood astride the dome taking the morning air.

Connors drained his orange juice, sampled the scrambled egg, then pushed it aside and tried the coffee.
It was Arnold's, and tasted good. ‘Anything on last night's tapes?'

‘No… Oh, by the way,' said Wedderkind. ‘I got word that a guy at the University of Chicago has filtered out some rhythmically pulsed tremors. They seem to be coming from this direction. It might be of some interest. Since Al Wetherby knows him I've sent him over there to look at the recordings. I hope that's okay.'

‘It's your department,' said Connors. ‘Are you going up on to the plateau or are you going to watch from the operations room?'

‘I'll go up, I think.'

‘I'll stick with the multiscreens. You get a better all-around view. Have I got time for a shower?'

‘That depends on Friday.'

‘Okay…' Connors got out of his bunk and wrapped himself in a bathrobe. ‘If I'm not there, start without me.'

‘Keep your fingers crossed,' said Wedderkind.

Connors smiled. ‘When you've thought of everything including prayers, that's the only thing you
can
do.'

The cadet driver of the TV jeep waited until Friday had walked down off Crusoe's hull, then switched on the camera and drove slowly in front of Friday. The camera picked him up and transferred his image to the screen. Friday stopped in his tracks as he saw it, then moved after the jeep as it cruised towards the point selected for the ambush.

The cadet pulled up in position with his eye on his rearview mirror and kept the motor running. Friday hung around the back of the jeep looking at himself on the TV screen.