Sphere by Crichton, Michael

Norman could not have been more surprised. “Wisconsin?”

“Yeah. This is a Navy transmission. It may or may not be directed to us, but it is coming from Wisconsin.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because that’s the only place in the world it could be coming from,” Harry said. “You know about ELF? No? Well, it’s like this. You can send radio waves through the air, and, as you know, they travel pretty well. But you can’t send radio far through water. Water is a bad medium, so you need an incredibly powerful signal to go even a short distance.”

“Yes …”

“But the ability to penetrate is a function of wavelength. An ordinary radio wave is short-shortwave radio, all of that. The length of the waves are tiny, thousands or millions of little waves to an inch. But you can also make ELF, extremely low-frequency waves, which are long-each individual wave is maybe twenty feet long. And those waves, once generated, will go a very great distance, thousands of miles, through water, no problem. The only trouble is that, since the waves are long, they’re also slow. That’s why we’re getting one character every five seconds. The Navy needed a way to communicate with their submarines underwater, so they built a big ELF antenna in Wisconsin to send these long waves. And that’s what we’re getting.”

“And the code?”

“It must be a compression code—three-letter groupings which stand for a long section of predefined message. So it won’t take so long to send a message. Because if you sent a plain text message, it would literally take hours.”

CQX VDX MOP LKI XXC VRW TGK PIU YQA IYT

[[277]] EEQ FVC ZNB TMK EXE MMN OPW GEW

The letters stopped.

“Looks like that’s it,” Harry said.

“How do we translate it?” Beth said.

“Assuming it’s a Navy transmission,” Harry said, “we don’t.”

“Maybe there’s a codebook here somewhere,” Beth said.

“Just hold on,” Harry said.

The screen shifted, translating groups one after another.

2340 HOURS 7-07 CHIEF CINCCOMPAC TO BARNES DEEPHAB-8

“It’s a message to Barnes,” Harry said. They watched as the other letter groups were translated.

SURFACE SUPPORT VESSELS STEAMING NANDI AND VIPATI TO YOUR LOCATION ETA 1600 HOURS 7-08 DEEP WITHDRAW AUTOSET ACKNOWLEDGE GOOD LUCK SPAULDING END

“Does that mean what I think it means?” Beth said.

“Yeah,” Harry said. “The cavalry is on the way.”

“Hot damn!” Beth clapped her hands.

“The storm must be calming down. They’ve sent the surface ships and they’ll be here in a little more than sixteen hours.”

“And autoset?”

They had the answer immediately. Every screen in the habitat flickered. In the upper right corner of each appeared a small box with numbers: 16:20:00. The numbers ran backward.

“It’s automatically counting down for us.”

“Is there some kind of countdown we’re supposed to follow for leaving the habitat?” Beth said.

Norman watched the numbers. They were rolling backward, just as they had on the submarine. Then he said, “What about the submarine?”

“Who cares about the submarine,” Harry said.

“I think we should keep it with us,” Beth said. She checked her watch. “We have another four hours before it has to be reset.”

“Plenty of time.”

[[278]] “Yes.”

Privately, Norman was trying to gauge whether they could survive for sixteen more hours.

Harry said, “Well, this is great news! Why are you two so hangdog?”

“Just wondering if we’ll make it,” Norman said.

“Why shouldn’t we make it?” Harry said.

“Jerry might do something first,” Beth said. Norman felt a burst of irritation with her. Didn’t she realize that by saying that, she was planting the idea in Harry’s mind?

“We can’t survive another attack on the habitat,” Beth said.

Norman thought, Shut up, Beth. You’re making suggestions.

“An attack on the habitat?” Harry said.

Quickly, Norman said, “Harry, I think you and I should talk to Jerry again.”

“Really? Why?”

“I want to see if I can reason with him.”

“I don’t know if you can,” Harry said. “Reason with him.”

“Let’s try anyway,” Norman said, with a glance at Beth. “It’s worth a try.”

Norman knew he would not really be talking to Jerry. He would be talking to a part of Harry. An unconscious part, a shadow part. How should he go about it? What could he use?

He sat in front of the monitor screen, thinking, What do I know about Harry, really? Harry, who had grown up in Philadelphia as a thin, introverted, painfully shy boy, a mathematical prodigy, his gifts denigrated by his friends and family. Harry had said once that when he cared about mathematics, everybody else cared about slamdunking. Even now, Harry hated all games, all sports. As a young man he had been humiliated and neglected, and when he finally got proper recognition for his gifts, Norman suspected, it came too late. The damage was already done. Certainly it came too late to prevent the arrogant, braggart exterior.

[[279]] I AM HERE. DO NOT BE AFRAID.

“Jerry.”

YES NORMAN.

“I have a request to make.”

YOU MAY DO SO.

“Jerry, many of our entities are gone, and our habitat is weakened.”

I KNOW THIS. MAKE YOUR REQUEST.

“Would you please stop manifesting?”

NO.

“Why not?”

I DO NOT WISH TO STOP.

Well, Norman thought, at least we got right down to it. No wasting time. “Jerry, I know that you have been isolated for a long time, for many centuries, and that you have felt alone during all that time. You have felt that nobody cared about you. You have felt that nobody wanted to play with you, or shared your interests.”

YES THIS IS TRUE.

“And now at last you can manifest, and you are enjoying this. You like to show us what you can do, to impress us.”

THIS IS TRUE.

“So that we will pay attention to you.”

YES. I LIKE IT.

“And it works. We do pay attention to you.”

YES I KNOW IT.

“But these manifestations injure us, Jerry.”

I DO NOT CARE.

“And they surprise us, too.”

I AM GLAD.

“We’re surprised, Jerry, because you are merely playing a game with us.”

I DO NOT LIKE GAMES. I DO NOT PLAY GAMES.

“Yes. This is a game for you, Jerry. It is a sport.”

NO, IT IS NOT.

“Yes, it is,” Norman said. “It is a stupid sport.”

Harry, standing beside Norman, said, “Do you want to contradict him that way? You might make him mad. I don’t think Jerry likes to be contradicted.”

[[280]] I’m sure you don’t, Norman thought. But he said, “Well, I have to tell Jerry the truth about his own behavior. He isn’t doing anything very interesting.”

OH? NOT INTERESTING?

“No. You are being spoiled and petulant, Jerry.”

DO YOU DARE TO SPEAK TO ME IN THIS FASHION?

“Yes. Because you are acting stupidly.”

“Jeez,” Harry said. “Take it easy with him.”

I CAN EASILY MAKE YOU REGRET YOUR WORDS, NORMAN.

Norman was noticing, in passing, that Jerry’s vocabulary and syntax were now flawless. All pretense of naïveté, of an alien quality, had been dropped. But Norman felt stronger, more confident, as the conversation progressed. He knew whom he was talking to now. He wasn’t talking to any alien. There weren’t any unknown assumptions. He was talking to a childish part of another human being.

I HAVE MORE POWER THAN YOU CAN IMAGINE.

“I know you have power, Jerry,” Norman said. “Big deal.”

Harry became suddenly agitated. “Norman. For Christ’s sake. You’re going to get us all killed.”

LISTEN TO HARRY. HE IS WISE.

“No, Jerry,” Norman said. “Harry is not wise. He is only afraid.”

HARRY IS NOT AFRAID. ABSOLUTELY NOT.

Norman decided to let that pass. “I’m talking to you, Jerry. Only to you. You are the one who is playing games.”

GAMES ARE STUPID.

“Yes, they are, Jerry. They are not worthy of you.”

GAMES ARE NOT OF INTEREST TO ANY INTELLIGENT PERSON.

“Then stop, Jerry. Stop the manifestations.”

I CAN STOP WHENEVER I WANT.

“I am not sure you can, Jerry.”

YES. I CAN.

“Then prove it. Stop this sport of manifestations.” There was a long pause. They waited for the response.

NORMAN YOUR TRICKS OF MANIPULATION ARE CHILDISH AND OBVIOUS TO THE POINT OF TEDIUM. I [[281]] AM NOT INTERESTED IN TALKING WITH YOU FURTHER. I WILL DO EXACTLY AS I PLEASE AND I WILL MANIFEST AS I WISH.

“Our habitat cannot withstand more manifestations, Jerry—”

I DO NOT CARE.

“If you injure our habitat again, Harry will die.”

Harry said, “Me and everybody else, for Christ’s sake.”

I DO NOT CARE NORMAN.

“Why would you kill us, Jerry?”

YOU SHOULD NOT BE DOWN HERE IN THE FIRST PLACE. YOU PEOPLE DO NOT BELONG HERE. YOU ARE ARROGANT CREATURES WHO INTRUDE EVERYWHERE IN THE WORLD AND YOU HAVE TAKEN A GREAT FOOLISH RISK AND NOW YOU MUST PAY THE PRICE. YOU ARE AN UNCARING UNFEELING SPECIES WITH NO LOVE FOR ONE ANOTHER.

“That’s not true, Jerry.”

DO NOT CONTRADICT ME AGAIN, NORMAN.

“I’m sorry, but the unfeeling, uncaring person is you, Jerry. You do not care if you injure us. You do not care for our predicament. It is you who are uncaring, Jerry. Not us. You.”

ENOUGH.

“He’s not going to talk to you any more,” Harry said. “He’s really mad, Norman.”

And then the screen printed:

I WILL KILL YOU ALL.

Norman was sweating; he wiped his forehead, turned away from the words on the screen.

“I don’t think you can talk to this guy,” Beth said. “I don’t think you can reason with him.”

“You shouldn’t have made him angry,” Harry said. He was almost pleading. “Why did you make him angry like that, Norman?”

“I had to tell him the truth.”

[[282]] “But you were so mean to him, and now he’s angry.”

“It doesn’t matter, angry or not,” Beth said. “Harry attacked us before, when he wasn’t angry.”

“You mean Jerry,” Norman said to her. “Jerry attacked us.”

“Yes, right, Jerry.”

“That’s a hell of a mistake to make, Beth,” Harry said.

“You’re right, Harry. I’m sorry.”

Harry was looking at her in an odd way. Norman thought, Harry doesn’t miss a trick, and he isn’t going to let that one go by.

“I don’t know how you could make that confusion,” Harry said.

“I know. It was a slip of the tongue. It was stupid of me.”

“I’ll say.”

“I’m sorry,” Beth said. “Really I am.”

“Never mind,” Harry said. “It doesn’t matter.”

There was a sudden flatness in his manner, a complete indifference in his tone. Norman thought: Uh-oh.

Harry yawned and stretched. “You know,” he said, “I’m suddenly very tired. I think I’ll take a nap now.”

And he went off to the bunks.

1600 HOURS

“We have to do something,” Beth said. “We can’t talk him out of it.”

“You’re right,” Norman said. “We can’t.”

Beth tapped the screen. The words still glowed: I WILL KILL YOU ALL.

“Do you think he means it?”

“Yes.”

[[283]] Beth stood, clenched her fists. “So it’s him or us.”

“Yes. I think so.”

The implications hung in the air, unspoken.

“This manifesting process of his,” Beth said. “Do you think he has to be completely unconscious to prevent it from happening?”

“Yes.”

“Or dead,” Beth said.

“Yes,” Norman said. That had occurred to him. It seemed so improbable, such an unlikely turn of events in his life, that he would now be a thousand feet under the water, contemplating the murder of another human being. Yet that was what he was doing.

“I’d hate to kill him,” Beth said.

“Me, too.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t even know how to begin to do it.”

“Maybe we don’t have to kill him,” Norman said. “Maybe we don’t have to kill him unless he starts some thing,” Beth said. Then she shook her head. “Oh hell, Norman, who’re we kidding? This habitat can’t survive another attack. We’ve got to kill him. I just don’t want to face up to it.”

“Neither do I,” Norman said.

“We could get one of those explosive spear guns and have an unfortunate accident. And then just wait for our time to be up, for the Navy to come and get us out of here.”

“I don’t want to do that.”

“I don’t, either,” Beth said. “But what else can we do?” “We don’t have to kill him,” Norman said. “Just make him unconscious.” He went to the first-aid cabinet, started going through the medicines.

“You think there might be something there?” Beth said.

“Maybe. An anesthetic, I don’t know.”

“Would that work?”

“I think anything that produces unconsciousness will work. I think.”

“I hope you’re right,” Beth said, “because if he starts dreaming and then manifests the monsters from his dreams, that wouldn’t be very good.”

[[284]] “No. But anesthesia produces a dreamless, total state of unconsciousness.” Norman was looking at the labels on the bottles. “Do you know what these things are?”

“No,” Beth said, “but it’s all in the computer.” She sat down at the console. “Read me the names and I’ll look them up for you.”

“Diphenyl paralene.

Beth pushed buttons, scanned a screen of dense text. “It’s, uh … looks like … something for burns.”

“Ephedrine hydrochloride.”

Another screen. “It’s … I guess it’s for motion sickness.”

“Valdomet.”

“It’s for ulcers.”

“Sintag.”

“Synthetic opium analogue. It’s very short-acting.”

“Produces unconsciousness?” Norman asked.

“No. Not according to this. Anyway, it only lasts a few minutes.”

“Tarazine.”

“Tranquilizer. Causes drowsiness.”

“Good.” He set the bottle to one side.

“ ‘And may also cause bizarre ideation.’ “

“No,” he said, and put the bottle back. They didn’t need to have any bizarre ideation. “Riordan?”

“Antihistamine. For bites.”

“Oxalamine?”

“Antibiotic.”

“Chloramphenicol?”

“Another antibiotic.”

“Damn.” They were running out of bottles. “Parasolutrine?”

“It’s a soporific. …”

“What’s that?”

“Causes sleep.”

“You mean it’s a sleeping pill?”

“No, it’s—it says you can give it in combination with paracin trichloride and use it as an anesthetic.”

“Paracin trichloride … Yes. I have it here,” Norman said. Beth was reading from the screen. “Parasolutrine twenty [[285]] cc’s in combination with paracin six cc’s given IM produces deep sleep suitable for emergency surgical procedures … no cardiac side effects … sleep from which the subject can be awakened only with difficulty … REM activity is suppressed. …”

“How long does it last?”

“Three to six hours.”

“And how fast does it take effect?”

She frowned. “It doesn’t say. ‘After appropriate depth of anesthesia is induced, even extensive surgical procedures may be begun …’ But it doesn’t say how long it takes.”

“Hell,” Norman said.

“It’s probably fast,” Beth said.

“But what if it isn’t?” Norman said. “What if it takes twenty minutes? And can you fight it? Fight it off?”

She shook her head. “Nothing about that here.”

In the end they decided on a mixture of parasolutrine, paracin, dulcinea, and sintag, the opiate. Norman filled a large syringe with the clear liquids. The syringe was so big it looked like something for horses.

“You think it might kill him?” Beth said.

“I don’t know. Do we have a choice?”

“No,” Beth said. “We’ve got to do it. Have you ever given an injection before?”

Norman shook his head. “You?”

“Only lab animals.”

“Where do I stick it?”

“Do it in the shoulder,” Beth said. “While he’s asleep.” Norman turned the syringe up to the light, and squirted a few drops from the needle into the air. “Okay,” he said.

“I better come with you,” Beth said, “and hold him down.”

“No,” Norman said. “If he’s awake and sees both of us coming, he’ll be suspicious. Remember, you don’t sleep in the bunks any more.”

“But what if he gets violent?”

“I think I can handle this.”

“Okay, Norman. Whatever you say.”

* * *

[[286]] The lights in the corridor of C Cyl seemed unnaturally bright. Norman heard his feet padding on the carpet, heard the constant hum of the air handlers and the space heaters. He felt the weight of the syringe concealed in his palm. He came to the door to the sleeping quarters.

Two female Navy crewmen were standing outside the bulkhead door. They snapped to attention as he approached. “Dr. Johnson, sir!”

Norman paused. The women were handsome, black, and muscular-looking. “At ease, men,” Norman said with a smile.

They did not relax. “Sorry, sir! We have our orders, sir!” “I see,” Norman said. “Well, carry on, then.” He started to move past them into the sleeping area.

“Beg your pardon, Dr. Johnson, sir!” They barred his way.

“What is it?” Norman asked, as innocently as he could manage.

“This area is off-limits to all personnel, sir!”

“But I want to go to sleep.”

“Very sorry, Dr. Johnson, sir! No one may disturb Dr. Adams while he sleeps, sir!”

“I won’t disturb Dr. Adams.”

“Sorry, Dr. Johnson, sir! May we see what is in your hand, sir!”

“In my hand?”

“Yes, there is something in your hand, sir!”

Their snapping, machine-gun delivery, always punctuated by the “sir!” at the end, was getting on his nerves. He looked at them again. The starched uniforms covered powerful muscles. He didn’t think he could force his way past them. Beyond the door he saw Harry, lying on his back, snoring. It was a perfect moment to inject him.

“Dr. Johnson, may we see what is in your hand, sir!”

“No, damn it, you may not.”

“Very good, Sir!”

Norman turned, and walked back to D Cyl.

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