Fade Out

by Patrick Tilley

  Their task was to spy on the growing number of Russian satellites launched in secret, for purposes known only to the Kremlin. Twenty-four SAINTS were now in orbit at varying heights.

  It was in June 1982 that one of the SAINTS recorded in secret a careful inspection by its first Russian counterpart. Since then, the Russians had put up a total of twenty ‘killer’ satellites. The Defense Department, in line with their usual policy of denigration, had christened them with the code name sows – for Soviet Orbital Weapons System.

  The control and deployment of the SAINTS was the responsibility of the Air Force – which may have explained why Clayson had to clear his throat a couple of times before he could answer.

  ‘I regret to say that at the present time we are unable to put this craft under surveillance.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Fraser.

  ‘Because the latest operational status report indicates a total malfunction return from all SAINTS currently in orbit.’ At moments like this, Clayson tended to lapse into Pentagonese.

  Fraser stared at him. ‘You mean to say none of them are working?’

  ‘That’s correct. We’re getting zero response to all signals that normally trigger off the transmission of visual and telemetric data, and we’ve been unable to activate the backup circuits that are designed to take over in the event of a primary malfunction.’

  ‘Fucking hell,’ said Fraser. ‘When did all this happen?’

  ‘Over the last forty-eight hours,’ said Clayson.

  ‘And that’s not all,’ said Wedderkind. ‘We’re not getting transmissions from anything we’ve got up there. Research, navigation, weather, communications satellites – the whole civilian network’s blown a fuse. Intelsats, Comsats – everything.’ He shook his head. ‘I hate to think just how many millions of dollars’ worth of investment that represents.’

  ‘Yeah, well, thanks for telling me,’ said Fraser. ‘How come I didn’t get any indication on the extent of these breakdowns before now?’

  ‘I didn’t start to get the whole picture myself until this morning,’ said Clayson. ‘This was a progressive failure. Before I got on to this, there had been several determined efforts at lower command levels to get on top of the situation. A lot of this satellite circuitry is very temperamental. Often what looks like a major breakdown clears after you sidetrack or shut down some of the circuits for a while. I tried to contact you before we left the East Coast but you were, uhh…’

  ‘What about the Russian satellites?’ asked Samuels.

  ‘No one’s heard a bleep from them since Friday,’ said Wedderkind. ‘It confirms what Chuck and I have been saying all along. Everything points to a colossal burst of X-ray or gamma radiation as the cause of the breakdown. It would affect their satellites too.’

  ‘They’ve been shut down,’ said Fraser.

  ‘What about the cosmonauts aboard Salyut 7 and the Mir space-station?’ asked McKenna.

  ‘There’s been no word from them since Friday morning,’ said Wedderkind.

  ‘Of course not,’ said Fraser. ‘They’ve been told to stay off the air too.’

  McKenna frowned. ‘Why?’

  ‘To keep us in the dark,’ said Fraser. ‘While those sons of bitches in the Kremlin work out what to do next.’

  Samuels closed his file of intelligence digests. ‘Who’s going to tell the Old Man about this?’

  ‘I will,’ said Fraser. It would be a moment he would relish.

  In the study, Connors listened in on the line as the President talked to the Soviet Premier.

  Apart from having, as Fraser firmly believed, the advantage of being a good half inch shorter than the President, one of the other things that had put Connors ahead was his ability to speak fluent Russian.

  After a stint at UCLA, he had continued his Russian studies at Harvard where he’d collected As in everything except popularity. A year’s postgraduate work at Oxford University had been followed by another living with a White Russian émigré family in Paris. His European stay had been followed by a five-month affair with a ballerina who had defected from Leningrad’s Kirov Company during a tour of the USA. While this last stormy period of tuition had put the final gloss on his Russian, it had done absolutely nothing for his marriage.

  Connors monitored the Moscow translation of what the Soviet Premier had to say and relayed the President’s reply in Russian. All in all, Moscow was on the line for about twenty-five minutes. It wasn’t the bad news Connors had half-expected to hear, but it wasn’t good news either. It left him with a momentary feeling of helplessness.

  Connors put down the extension as the President hung up. They looked at one another thoughtfully, then the President closed his eyes and again massaged the bridge of his nose. With his eyes still shut, he said, ‘Who do you think we ought to bring in on this?’

  Connors tried to collect his thoughts. ‘Ah, hell, uh – right now, I’d say as few people as possible. Otherwise it could get out of control.’

  ‘Yeah… ’

  It was an interesting situation, thought Connors. After all the arguments, he and Fraser had both been right – but in a way neither of them could possibly have expected.

  ‘I think we’ll have to tell all those guys in the other room.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Connors. ‘I think you will.’

  The President squared himself up in his chair. ‘Okay, wheel them in.’

  McKenna was the last one through the door. As he shut it behind him, the President said, ‘Maybe you’d all better sit down.’

  Clayson, Fraser, Samuels, and Wedderkind each took the nearest chair. McKenna chose one end of the wide ledge of the window facing the sea. Connors took the other corner. As he settled back against the glass, he caught Fraser looking at him warily.

  ‘The talk I’ve had with my friend in Moscow,’ said the President, ‘and the unequivocal nature of the reassurances I have received make it quite clear that our preliminary conclusions about this spacecraft are based on a fundamental error.’

  ‘You mean it’s not a weapons system?’ Fraser sounded disappointed.

  ‘I mean it’s not Russian.’

  The reaction, predictably, was one of stunned disbelief.

  ‘Or anyone else we know.’

  ‘You mean,’ said Clayson, ‘it’s –?’

  Extraterrestrial. The thought exploded like a star-shell inside Wedderkind’s brain. Sentient life, perhaps. Some kind of artefact, at least. From another planet. Another solar system. Maybe even from another galaxy. Here. Overhead. Within his own lifetime. It was…

  Fraser looked at the President. ‘Do you think they’re telling us the truth this time?’

  ‘What would be the point of lying to us about a thing like this, Mel? They know we’re going to check it out. I didn’t call you in here to feed you some Russian fairy tale.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Fraser. ‘It’s just that this is one hell of an idea to have to take on board.’

  ‘You can say that again,’ said Clayson.

  ‘I know,’ said the President. ‘I’m still having trouble believing it myself. What do you think, Mack?’

  McKenna raised his eyebrows. ‘It had to happen sooner or later. But even so, it’s – ’

  ‘Fantastic,’ said Wedderkind. ‘This could change our whole concept of Man, his origins, his place in the universe – everything.’

  ‘Yes – well, that’s something we’ll have to think about.’ The President looked at Samuels. ‘Gene?’

  ‘I’ll feel a lot happier when we know more about it,’ said Samuels.

  ‘We all will,’ said Connors. Having got over the first numbing shock of the Russian announcement, he felt apprehensive. He wasn’t worried about little green men. It was the whole host of practical problems arising out of such a situation, affecting all kinds of things – including himself. But at the same time, he felt excited at the prospect of the imminent contact with something from up there.

  Maybe it would only be an extraterrestrial vers
ion of a message in a bottle. It didn’t matter. It would be proof that Man was not alone in the Universe. A sign, perhaps, that the nations of the world should join together. But would they? It was a nice idea, but Connors knew that anyone stepping off a spaceship would have both halves of the world giving him the hardsell on the merits of their own way of life.

  On the other hand, if they were going to be hit by an H. G. Wells-type Martian invasion, there was the depressing prospect that the Russians might try to rip off a tactical advantage in the following confusion. And if they did, the US would have to get in on the action too…

  ‘Bob…’

  The President’s voice brought Connors back to earth. ‘Sorry, I was – ’

  ‘That’s okay. Listen, this is one headache I can do without. I’m assigning you the responsibility for setting up a special task force to deal with this thing. Any objections?’

  ‘No, none at all.’

  The President looked at the others. ‘I want to set this thing up so everything goes through Bob. He’ll report directly to me. Anybody see any problems?’

  Apparently nobody did.

  ‘Good. Then I take it I can count on your unqualified co-operation and support.’

  Connors watched them all say ‘yes’ – even those who didn’t mean it.

  ‘Great.’ The President turned to Connors. ‘Arnold will be able to help you on the scientific side, and I think you’d better tie in with the Air Force for logistic support. They’re into the space business anyway. That okay, Mel?’

  ‘Yes, I guess so,’ said Fraser.

  ‘Chuck?’

  ‘Yes, fine. But what about NASA? Won’t you want to bring them in on this?’ Air Force General Clayson was great on protocol.

  ‘Maybe later. I think we ought to hold back on this for a bit. Those boys have tied themselves in so tight with the media to hustle more money and enthusiasm for their space programs, they’d never be able to sit on this. It’d be banner headlines in tomorrow’s press handouts.’

  ‘They’d be selling grandstand seats,’ said Connors.

  ‘So until we know what we’re getting into, let’s keep this on an “Eyes Only” basis. Is that clear?’

  It was. Nobody wanted to start a run on Wall Street.

  ‘Good.’ The President swung his chair round to face Connors. ‘Bob, as from now, I want you to start active preparations for dealing with a possible landing.’

  ‘In co-operation with the Russians?’

  ‘I think we have to look into that area. Maybe you could have a talk with them about it. But starting tomorrow, I want a daily progress report. From here on in, your team will have first call on the scientific, technological and manpower resources of America. Don’t worry about red tape. Just get the show on the road.’

  Just get the show on the road… It must be marvellous to be the President of the United States. To be able to swivel round in a big blue high-backed chair and come out with lines like that. You just drew yourself one hell of an assignment, Connors. The big one…

  ‘It’s on the way,’ said a voice.

  Connors dimly recognized it as his own.

  Apart from the seven of them in the President’s study, only nine of the top men in the Kremlin knew that the world had a visitor from outer space. Both nations had agreed, for the moment at least, to maintain total secrecy on the whole affair. The American military and civilian organizations involved were to be encouraged to accept Jodrell Bank’s statement that the orbiting craft was the ailing Jupiter probe. Conversely, the Russian personnel involved would be allowed to think that the craft was American. Because they were heavily insulated from the Western press and radio, there was a minimal chance of anyone over there catching the double play.

  The Russians had agreed not to make any statements to the Western press. Since their past space-flight mishaps and, more recently, the catastrophic accident at the Chernobyl nuclear power plant had been characterized by the same tight-lipped approach, it would reinforce the conviction that they had another failure on their hands. In return, the President had promised to play down any reports linking the spacecraft with the fade-out. With the ‘spacelab’ satisfactorily identified and now predicted to descend and finally bum up as it entered the denser layers of the atmosphere, civilian observatories would turn their attentions elsewhere, and public interest would quickly wane. What happened after that would depend very much on what was up there.

  ‘What are the chances of having one of our SAINTS look this thing over?’ asked the President.

  Fraser told him exactly what the chances were. Nil. There is always a risk to the bringer of bad news, but to Fraser it was worth it just to see Connors’ face.

  Considering the other shocks he’d had to absorb, the President took it rather well. He gave his nose a slow, sliding pinch but kept his eyes wide open. ‘Arnold, how soon could we send up a manned space shot to look this thing over?’

  ‘The short answer is “we can’t”,’ replied Wedderkind. ‘The whole shuttle programme was knocked for a loop when we lost Challenger. NASA’s still trying to sort out the latest batch of design faults that have come to light.’

  ‘So there’s nothing on the pad at Cape Canaveral…’

  ‘Nothing we can put a man in.’

  ‘Okay, but there must be duplicate Apollo modules around that were used for tests and training.’

  ‘There are. We could probably blow the cobwebs off one of them. The problem is we don’t have any Saturn 5 rockets ready to lift it into orbit. We might be able to get something rolling but it’ll take at least three months to get it off the ground.’

  The President took a slow bite at his bottom lip and considered Wedderkind’s news. Connors caught his eye as his chair swivelled towards the window.

  ‘In one sense, a manned flight is not a bad idea,’ said Connors. ‘But everybody in Houston Control and at the Cape is going to be in on this mission. They would have to be. It’s the way the setup works.’

  ‘Yes, you’ve got a point there,’ said the President. ‘Can you see a way round that, Arnold?’

  ‘Well, I know you feel a little sensitive on this issue because they’ve been pressuring you for funds, but we have to face up to the fact that we can’t lock NASA out of this much longer. We’re going to need their know-how. A lot of good people have left, but they still have some of the best brains in the business. I admit they’ve been laying on some heavy PR, but let’s also remember that for years they launched a lot of hardware for the Air Force and the CIA that a lot of people, including me, still know nothing about.’

  McKenna looked at Connors and smiled.

  ‘Security is not really the problem,’ continued Wedderkind. ‘The spacecraft is orbiting one thousand miles out – slap in the middle of the inner Van Allen belt. When we had Skylab up there, it was orbiting at a height of 270 miles – well below the bottom layer of radiation.’

  ‘But the Apollo module has flown through the Van Allen belt on its way to the moon,’ said Connors.

  ‘And back, too,’ said Wedderkind. ‘Flying through it is a lot different than orbiting for an extended period inside it. Even under normal conditions there would be a definite radiation hazard to the Apollo module and the crew. At the moment, the energy levels in the Van Allen belts must be fantastically high. Since Telstar One and Two, all our satellites have been equipped with radiation shields. For all of them to be put temporarily out of action like that means they’ve taken a big shot of gamma rays. We could overcome the problem, but we’d have to measure the radiation levels with sounding rockets before we could modify the Apollo. And the shuttle would present an even bigger problem. We’d have to put in extra shielding to protect the crew and instrumentation, and if they’re going to do any EVA to inspect our friend, we’ll need to build some additional protection into their space suits. And that’s going to take time.’

  ‘Friend may be the wrong word,’ said Connors. ‘If he’s knocked out all our satellites, and everything t
he Russians have put up there, he may knock out the Apollo mission too. This fade-out could be an uncontrollable side effect, or its use could be deliberate.’

  ‘As a weapon.’ It was Fraser. As warlike as ever.

  Connors shrugged. ‘The point is, if we do launch an Apollo, that thing up there isn’t going to know there are men inside. Do we want to get into that kind of situation?’

  ‘What are we suddenly talking about weapons for?’ asked Wedderkind. ‘Okay, we’ve got a few problems – ’

  ‘A few?’ Fraser snorted. ‘Jesus, Arnold, where have you been the last three days?’

  Wedderkind blinked rapidly but didn’t look at Fraser. “That doesn’t mean that the world is being circled by a malevolent intelligence. And why would anyone out there wish us any harm? For God’s sake – even to reach us, they have to be more advanced than we are. In every way. To the point, perhaps, where communication – on our level – is impossible.’

  ‘If that’s the case, why bother to get in touch with us?’ asked Fraser.

  ‘The contact has to have some purpose.’ said Wedderkind.

  ‘What form do you think it will take?’ asked Samuels.

  Wedderkind hunched up his shoulders. ‘If we’re lucky, we may find someone has made us a gift of a harmless piece of hardware. We have to look, to listen – and above all, try to understand.’

  ‘Yeah, well, that all sounds great, Arnold. But meanwhile, what are we going to do back at the ranch?’ Fraser was playing the Philistine, but it was a practical question – and one Connors would have asked, but less belligerently.

  Wedderkind’s lips pinched together. He looked towards Fraser but not at him. ‘I think we should do all we can, without doing anything stupid.’

  ‘So what’s the final decision on the Apollo shot?’ asked Connors.

  ‘I think we’ll hang fire on that for a while,’ said the President. He stood up abruptly. ‘I’m hungry. Do any of you fellas want to eat? All I’ve had since eight this morning is one lousy chicken sandwich.’