Spencer checked his watch. ‘I’ll give you a countdown of five.’
As he raised his hand to count off the seconds, the two hatches rotated shut of their own accord.
Spencer looked around the ring of faces. ‘Okay, who moved?’ Nobody answered. ‘Okay, everybody back off for a minute.’
They all took a couple of steps back down the hull. Spencer frowned. ‘What do you think, Chris?’
‘We must have done something wrong. If these are pressure pads, they could be highly sensitive. The slightest variation from the norm may trigger off an alarm…’
‘Or there could be an automatic control that closes the hatch after a set time.’ Spencer looked at his watch. ‘Did anyone keep a check on how long it was open?’
Nobody had. ‘Listen,’ said Milsom. ‘If we can open it once, we can open it a second time.’
‘You’re right,’ said Spencer.
‘If it’s any help, I timed the taped sequence of Friday going back inside,’ said Tomkin. ‘He takes fifteen seconds to fold the first four legs, fifteen for the second four, and fifteen to slide down below the level of the inner hatch.’
‘But the hatch isn’t fully open when he starts folding his legs,’ said Collis.
‘No, that’s right,’ said Spencer. ‘Okay, back on your marks, let’s give it a whirl.’
They tried several times to repeat their first success, but the dome didn’t budge.
‘Doesn’t look as if it’s going to work,’ said Page.
‘Keep trying,’ said Spencer. Come on, baby… just to wipe that smirk off Page’s face. Nothing moved. ‘Okay, let’s get it together. Just one more time.’
The two hatches rotated into line. The inner sphere with its complex pattern of struts was still empty.
‘Maybe there’s a closed cycle as well as an open one,’ suggested Tomkin.
‘I’m ahead of you,’ said Spencer. ‘When it closes, we’ll try again and keep a close check on the time.’ They repeated the operation three times. There was an override control on the hatch. Regardless of the pressure on the hull patches, it rotated after forty-five seconds and remained shut for five minutes.
‘Forty-five seconds doesn’t give you very much time,’ said Page.
Spencer grinned at him. ‘Are you kidding? You can run a hundred yards in eight and half.’
‘You’re not seriously thinking of going in there, are you?’ asked Lovell.
‘No, he’s not,’ said Milson. ‘I am.’
Everyone still thought he was joking.
‘Whoever it is will have to wear a space suit,’ said Spencer. ‘We have no way of knowing the pressure or temperature conditions inside the main hull. This double hatch could be some kind of airlock. We don’t even know if we can maintain two-way communication with whoever goes inside.’
Lovell considered the problems. ‘This is something that will need a lot of preparation. We’ll have to discuss it with Arnold first.’
‘Of course,’ said Spencer. ‘We’ve got to do it right.’
‘But this is a really a big breakthrough.’ Lovell patted Spencer on the back. ‘Well done.’
‘Yes,’ said Page. ‘Excellent…’
Spencer gave a wry grin and shook hands with the four cadets. ‘Thanks, fellas. Half past nine in the bar, okay? And forget what I said before. The drinks are on me.’
Milsom took the wheel of the jeep for the short drive back. Spencer sat beside him looking curiously dissatisfied.
The two of them shared a trailer, and much later that night, when Milsom came out of the shower, he found Spencer sitting on the edge of his bunk, deep in thought.
‘What’s the problem?’
‘The hatch…’
‘Didn’t everything work out like you said?’
‘Yes. But it shouldn’t have.’
Milsom put the towel round his neck like a boxer, sat down opposite Spencer, and reached for a cigarette. ‘Shoot.’
‘I wanted to try to open the hatch when Friday was inside because, if we had found him folded up in the hatch, it would have meant there was probably no means of access to other parts of the ship.’
‘But now we know there is.’
‘Right. But with Friday already on board, the hatch shouldn’t have opened. There should have been a lock on those pressure points. Who else would Crusoe want to open up for?’
‘Neame seems to think it’s us,’ Milsom grinned. ‘Maybe Crusoe’s planning to throw a Tupperware party.’
‘Aw, for Pete’s sake, Chris! I’m trying to have a serious conversation – ’
‘Sorry, go ahead.’
‘I don’t really go for Neame’s idea – do you?’
‘If I did, I wouldn’t be volunteering to go into Crusoe.’
‘Then what’s his angle?’
Milsom thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. ‘Maybe Crusoe isn’t as bright as we think he is.’
Spencer nodded slowly. ‘Yeah… But on the other hand, maybe we aren’t as bright as we think we are.’
He tried to remember exactly when he had had the first glimmerings of the idea about the hatch. It had come to him that morning. When he had been up on the Ridge with Milsom, Wetherby and Collis…
And Friday.
They had sat watching him for two hours. He tried to remember what train of thought had led him to the first ideas about the hatch. It was difficult to filter out the other thought circuits that kept cutting into his retrieval system. The spat with his wife about a new car. There was the letter he should have written to his mother. The sweet smell of his daughter’s hair as he’d kissed her goodbye when he’d left for Crow Ridge. And Friday…
He’d thought a lot about Friday. Was it possible that Friday had…?
Spencer looked across at Milsom, then decided not to mention that last idea. Instead, he said, ‘First thing we have to do is to try and find out if Friday is controlling Crusoe, or the other way around. We also have to immobilize Friday before going inside – otherwise it could get a little crowded in there.’ He paused, then said, ‘If we can get a couple of suits up here, are you game to go inside Crusoe with me?’
‘How many times do I have to say it?’ said Milsom. ‘I keep volunteering but no one will take me seriously. Of course I’ll come.’
‘Good…’ Spencer lay back on his bunk. ‘Let’s hope Arnold agrees.’
‘It’s not just up to him,’ said Milsom. ‘That guy Connors is bound to stick his oar in. And that maniac Allbright.’
Tuesday/September 11
CROW RIDGE/MONTANA
When Connors and Wedderkind,got back to Crow Ridge, they saw the videotape record of Spencer’s weekend experiment with the hatch. He had also managed to open it the next day while Friday was out on the plateau.
‘What makes you think there’s going to be any space below the hatch to move around in?’ asked Connors.
‘There has to be,’ said Spencer. ‘Friday was inside, but the hatch was empty. From what we managed to see of the framework inside the hatch, it looks as though it contrarotates when the hatch opens so that Friday stays the right way up, then drops down into a lower compartment. Once he’s outside the ship, that must leave plenty of room for us.’
‘Not necessarily,’ said Wedderkind. ‘He might remain folded up and be slotted straight into a storage well.’
‘In that case, there’s no reason why he can’t stay folded up inside the hatch.’
‘I can think of several,’ said Wedderkind. ‘We can’t preclude the possibility that Friday may be only one of several similar craft. Even two would make more sense. In the case of a malfunction or damage, the hatch would select the serviceable craft. All it would need would be for the outer dome to have a variable axis of rotation. It could then open on to several storage wells.’
‘In that case, we’ll just have to sit there till you let us out,’ said Spencer. ‘If Crusoe is directing Friday’s activity, you may well be right. But consider the reverse possibility – t
hat Friday controls Crusoe. The LEM landed on the moon, but it was the men who stepped out who were running the show. You saw what happened on the tapes. The two domes opened up on our signal – as they did on Friday’s.’
Instead of shutting himself in at sunset, Friday stayed outside on an extended walk. Wedderkind asked the monitor hut to keep a watchful TV eye trained on him.
Connors, Wedderkind, and Allbright got together with the scientists and engineers in the research hut and discussed Spencer’s breakthrough.
They finally agreed on the insertion of one volunteer for a quick preliminary reconnaissance, to see if there was a way into other parts of Crusoe, and to check whether two-way communication was possible. The first move in this plan was to immobilize Friday during one of his walks, and take him to the field lab for examination. With Friday out of the way, the round trip could be made without fear of interruption. If the first insertion was successful and there was access into the main part of the hull, they would then insert a two-man team for a more thorough examination of the interior.
There was one big question Connors had in mind that no one asked at the meeting: Would any attempt be made to rescue the first man if he didn’t come out as planned? Maybe no one asked because they didn’t want to hear the answer – or maybe they already knew what it would be.
When the meeting broke up, Connors and Wedderkind decided to take a walk and breathe in some clear night air. Wedderkind regaled Connors with domestic trivia, mainly about his grandson. Connors sensed what was coming.
‘Do you think you and Charly are going to make it?’
‘I don’t think I’m going to make it with anyone, Arnold.’
Wedderkind had been instrumental in bringing Connors and Charly together. As a would-be matchmaker, he had a vested interest in their relationship. Connors enjoyed rebuffing his fatherly concern but he also found it touching.
‘Mmm…’ Wedderkind lapsed into silence for several yards. ‘Is this all because Carol died?’
‘Not entirely. We were already divorced when she had the accident.’
‘Have you talked to Charly about it?’
‘No.’
‘Do you want to tell me how it happened?’
‘Not really. I know exactly what my hang-up is.’
‘Well, go ahead and tell me anyway.’
Connors sighed and assumed a matter-of-fact voice. ‘I put my career before my marriage, never came home, ran around with other women. My wife took to drink, had an affair that went sour, decided to leave me, took our son with her, had an accident, he was killed.’
‘Was she…?’
‘Yes, of course she was drunk. And yes, of course that was really my fault but – I sued for divorce, she blamed herself for Joe’s death, I never forgave her, she kept on drinking. And it all went downhill…’
‘Did she kill herself or was it an accident?’
‘Who knows? The car swerved and went straight into an oncoming truck. That’s why I didn’t find Weissman’s suggestion about the Bodells so funny. Still, I got a partial comeuppance – I had to identify her body. That was something I could have done without…’ She had left an envelope addressed to him which he had burned without reading the contents. He shook his head. ‘It’s amazing what you can do to people when you really try.’
‘Or when you stop trying,’ said Wedderkind. He put his hand on Connors’ shoulder. ‘I’m glad you finally told me.’
‘Yeah, well, that’s okay. Just so long as you don’t think it makes me feel better.’
‘You’re not supposed to,’ said Wedderkind.
They rounded a corner of the trailer site and almost collided with Friday.
‘Jesus Christ!’ gasped Connors. He had forgotten that Friday was still wandering around the plateau.
Friday froze with the now characteristic backward movement. Connors stepped back out of sight and leaned against the side of the trailer to recover his composure. Wedderkind stayed where he was.
‘Arnold, for God’s sake – ’Connors shuddered with revulsion.
‘It’s okay, he’s moving away.’ Wedderkind turned to Connors.
‘I’m sorry, Arnold. Walking into him in the dark like that just frightened the life out of me.’
Wedderkind patted him on the shoulder. ‘If it’s any comfort, I wanted to move but my legs wouldn’t. Come on back to the trailer. Phil, Alan Wetherby, and Ray Collis are.coming over for a nightcap.’
Wedderkind’s trailer-made coffee was infinitely superior to the canteen brew. He had also shipped in six real coffee cups and saucers from Washington. ‘I know I’m being fussy, but I can’t stand the feel of those expanded polystyrene cups.’
‘When the oil starts to run out, the disposable cup will become a thing of the past,’ said Brecetti.
“In ten years, nothing will be disposable,’ said Wetherby. ‘We’re going to have to start making things that last. I’m even hoping students will start majoring in Repair and Maintenance instead of Business Management.’
‘That’s enough of your radical chatter.’ Wedderkind handed out the coffee and told them about the encounter with Friday. ‘I know he’s harmless, but he looks hideous in the dark.’
Connors’ skin crawled as he thought about it again. ‘It’s ridiculous, I know. I’ve seen people pick up spiders and insects and let them run around in their hands – if I had to do that I’d probably pass out. Why are there so many people like me with this totally irrational fear of spiders? It’s not through any bad experience, it was there even as a small child.’
‘There isn’t really an answer to that,’ said Collis. ‘It’s thought that the effects of psychological states, shocks, fears, accidents experienced by pregnant women can be transmitted to the unborn child. It may be the relic of a more primitive animal instinct, a deepseated folk memory from the distant past, that affects some of us more than others. I knew a brave man who would faint if confronted with a snake. And there is always the more comic spectacle of women who leap on to chairs at the sight of a mouse.’
‘If this fear was a folk memory, from a time when we had reason to fear spiders, could it be because there were things like Friday around then?’ asked Connors.
Wedderkind shrugged. ‘If science teaches us anything, it is that anything is possible. Hardly a day passes without some discoveries that challenge what were once the unassailable natural laws on which our knowledge of the physical world is based. Darwin’s theory of evolution is under constant attack, the new skull finds in Kenya and elsewhere force us to revise our dating of the appearance of Homo Erectus – ’
‘And there are now the “Black Holes” in space that could conceivably swallow up our entire universe before we solve the riddle of its creation,’ said Brecetti.
‘You’re as comforting as Allbright,’ said Connors. ‘If the Hellfires don’t get us, the Black Holes will.’ He stared at his coffee as he stirred in two fatal spoonfuls of sugar, then looked up. ‘I’ve heard this term “folk memory”, “race memory” mentioned on odd occasions. Is it conceivable that Crusoe’s kind could have been here before?’
‘It is if you believe in Divine Intervention,’ said Wetherby.
‘In the biblical sense – or as discovered by Erich Von Daniken?’ asked Connors.
‘I think the truth lies buried in his books and the Bible,’ said Wetherby. ‘And in the Talmud, the Torah, the more esoteric religious texts – and in the priceless works that are locked in the cellars of the Vatican.’
‘Oh, come on, Al, the Vatican isn’t hiding anything,’ said Brecetti.
‘Papist –’ Wetherby turned to Connors. ‘Phil belongs to the evolutionary accident school. A pointless existence in an equally pointless world created by chance out of the chaos of the cosmos.’
‘Not quite,’ said Brecetti. ‘Man has to create his own goals. I happen to believe he would act more constructively in this life if he gave up thinking about the next. There is no conscious or spiritual existence beyond the death of t
he body. Heaven and hell, as Omar Khayyam said, exist here, on Earth. And by the way, Al, I don’t subscribe to the Big Bang theory. I’m still wedded to Modified Steady State – despite what Sandage and Gunn say.’
‘That makes you a heretic on two counts,’ said Wetherby. He turned again to Connors. ‘They never learn. Arnold is just as bad.’
‘Not true,’ said Wedderkind. ‘After people started to fall off the Steady State bandwagon, I became a floating voter. I’m even prepared to indulge your fanciful theories.’
‘What are they?’ asked Connors.
‘I think we were given a helping hand,’ replied Wetherby. ‘But it goes further than that. I think our first visitors gave Earth the Kiss of Life. I believe they seeded the atmosphere to get rid of the choking clouds of methane, the perpetual mists of ammonia. And with the breathable atmosphere came the visible separation of heaven and Earth. It’s amazing how, all over the world, there are myths that relate how gods raised the sky from the Earth. Once that was done, the oceans became the spawning grounds for embryo life-forms – the primordial soup. Again, you only have to compare the amazing similarity in the myths. Even primitive tribes produced amazingly sophisticated stories to explain evolution that coincide remarkably with modern theory. But then, I believe that myths are historical events or scientific information recounted so many times that the original meaning has been lost in the telling.’
‘But basically, what you’re saying is that we are the end product of a gigantic biological engineering project,’ said Wedderkind.
‘Yes, but the project has a purpose. I think that over the aeons of time since Earth saw its first God-given sunrise, there have been periodic visits to control the evolution of life and the balance of its various forms. For instance, the mass extinction of the dinosaurs was part of that weeding-out process. Its purpose was to enable the mammals to flourish.’
‘To give our ancestors elbow room,’ said Connors.
‘Yes, but perhaps, when a suitable form arose, homo sapiens was created by genetic engineering and not the slow process of evolution. That could explain why the Darwinists can’t find this missing link. If our evolution was artificially accelerated, there wouldn’t be a direct link with the primates. Homo erectus could have been the start of a new experimental line, using some new and borrowed parts. Man began with Man.’
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