Fade Out

by Patrick Tilley

  ‘What makes you say that?’ asked Fraser.

  ‘I don’t know. It was just a thought.’

  Fraser grinned. ‘Crusoe’s finally got you worried too.’

  ‘There’s never been a time when I wasn’t worried,’ said Connors. ‘Even so, I think it was right to give Arnold and his boys a chance to try to find out something about it.’

  Fraser shook his head. ‘We should have blown it up in orbit. We had a whole week while it was circling around. Our radar was locked on to it, there was no fade-out. We couldn’t have missed.’

  ‘It still could have been dangerous. Supposing Crusoe had been stuffed with radioactive cobalt? The debris could have poisoned the atmosphere and killed us all.’

  ‘Could we be in any greater danger than we are now?’ asked Fraser.

  ‘But Mel, with what we know now, do you honestly believe that we could have blown Crusoe up before he landed? Our satellites were knocked out by a burst of radiation. A missile could have been deactivated in the same way.’

  ‘I’m not prepared to consider that kind of proposition,’ said Fraser. ‘If we allow ourselves to think for one moment that Crusoe is indestructible, then we might as well all jump out of the window.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Mel,’ said Connors, ‘I’m with you one hundred per cent on this, but if we’re going to drop a nuclear bomb on him, we have to consider the possibility that it’s not going to blow him out of the ground. That means considering that the fade-out might not be a prelude to takeoff but a permanent fixture. I know the problems would be gigantic, but we could adapt. We’d find some kind of solution. We’d have to. It certainly wouldn’t be the end of the world.’

  Fraser eyed him. ‘All I can say is you’ve got a funny view of it. You remember we asked the Hudson Institute to prepare various scenarios on the basis of a prolonged fade-out?’

  Connors nodded.

  ‘I got a sneak preview of their preliminary assessments,’ said Fraser. ‘Catastrophic…’

  ‘In that case everything had better go according to plan,’ said Connors. ‘If the Russians play ball, by next Friday we’ll have seen the last of Crusoe and an end of our uncertainties.’

  ‘That moment can’t come soon enough for me.’

  ‘Weren’t you ever curious to know more about Crusoe?’ asked Connors. ‘I find it amazing that you never wanted to come to Crow Ridge and take a firsthand look at Crusoe and Friday. After all, an event like this is not likely to happen again, not in our lifetimes anyway.’

  Fraser shrugged. ‘The tapes were good enough for me. The President wanted to go but I advised him against it. What good did it do you? You practically shook hands with Friday. Are you any the wiser?’

  It was Connors’ turn to shrug.

  Fraser smiled. ‘What are you pleading, the Fifth Amendment? Relax. According to the medical reports you’re still R. J. Connors.’

  ‘It’s curious how you’re really bugged by that idea,’ said Connors. ‘Don’t tell me you seriously thought that Crusoe might gain control of the people on the project?’

  ‘It was something we considered. I guess you think I’m pretty stupid.’

  ‘Far from it,’ said Connors. ‘But do you really think that the universe is only populated by beings intent on destroying this world? Do you think a peaceful visit is impossible?’

  ‘Is that how you’d describe what we’re currently experiencing? Do you remember our argument over the mad dog theory right at the beginning of all this? Crusoe isn’t just an ordinary piece of space hardware. It’s got a brain. There’s an alien intelligence at work. You’ve seen the pictures of that second layer.’

  ‘The cortex… yes, but we just used that word to describe its appearance. There’s no proof that it functions as a brain. And there’s still no conclusive proof that Crusoe’s reactions are anything more than high-grade, computer-directed reflexes.’

  ‘I don’t care if he’s running on a clockwork motor,’ said Fraser. ‘He still made assholes out of the research group. Right from the start I knew this was going to be bad news. I predicted it. I was against letting it land. But nobody listened to me…’

  ‘That’s true,’ said Connors. ‘I was just thinking how you turned out to be absolutely right about Crusoe being the source of that first twenty-minute fade-out.’

  ‘I just had a hunch.’

  ‘Yes, I know, but it was still pretty amazing. I mean you were wrong about it being a Russian spacecraft, yet you still stuck your neck out even though you knew they couldn’t have built a plasma-powered space-vehicle without Arnold or one of his friends at the Fermi Institute hearing about it.’

  ‘Yeah, I know. I knew it didn’t add up, but something at the back of my mind told me I was right,’ said Fraser.

  ‘Even though Arnold’s people and the Air Force scientists all said it was freak solar radiation…’

  ‘There were those figures for the fade-out times,’ said Fraser. ‘Which showed the shock wave moving around the earth.’

  ‘Yes, but you asked for that data to be collected.’

  ‘And it proved what I’d been saying all along. Crusoe was the cause of the fade-out.’

  ‘Yes. Several of us have been right,’ said Connors. ‘I suggested that the interference could come from within the earth. The fade-out did continue while Crusoe was underground. Arnold suggested that Crusoe might grow. He is growing – into a different shape.’

  Fraser looked at Connors thoughtfully. ‘What are you trying to say, that I’ve been got at too?’

  ‘I’m not suggesting anyone’s been got at,’ said Connors. ‘That’s one of your ideas. I’m just trying to point out that if you are right, Crusoe may have got to some of us while he was in orbit. Which means that now he’s on the ground, he could reach out a lot further than Crow Ridge.’

  ‘Yeah…’

  It gave Connors considerable pleasure to watch Fraser’s furtive contemplation of the possibility that his own mind might have been contaminated.

  ‘Have you mentioned this idea to anybody?’

  ‘No,’ said Connors.

  ‘Good. Maybe, just for the moment, we ought to keep it to ourselves.’

  ‘Sure,’ said Connors. ‘We don’t want to alarm anybody.’

  ‘No… did the President, ah, you know – I mean, did he ever come up with any ideas about Crusoe?’

  ‘No,’ said Connors. ‘He just thought of the code name.’

  ‘Yeah… As a matter of fact, now I come to think of it, Gene Samuels may have suggested that stuff about the fade-out to me. I just presented it at the meeting. That’s the way I think it happened.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter which of you it was,’ said Connors. ‘After all, Arnold, Allbright, and I have all been cleared more than once by the base camp unit. We’re not affected in any way, so why should either of you be? Still… if you are worried, all you need do is have Gene go through the same checkup.’

  ‘Yeah…’

  Connors had never taken Wedderkind’s suggestion of a possible extermination plot very seriously. Nevertheless, he hadn’t forgotten what the President had said about CAMPFIRE. ‘ If it proved necessary, the strike would include everything and everybody on the Ridge…’ As far as Connors knew, the medical evidence showed that Crusoe hadn’t infected their minds or bodies or their environment but there was always a chance that, once formed, the idea could still be lurking at the back of someone’s mind. By suggesting to Fraser the possibility of a random telepathic contact over unlimited distances, Connors hoped to take the heat off the people on the Ridge once and for all. He was even more anxious to put himself in the clear – especially as he was becoming more and more convinced that he was starting to hear voices…

  Jean Seagren appeared in the aisle. ‘Would you gentlemen like some coffee, or something a little stronger?’

  ‘Why not,’ said Fraser. ‘Give me a rye with plenty of ice in it, but make sure it floats. We’re not going to get a decent drink over there.’

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nbsp; ‘I’ll just have a coffee,’ said Connors. He looked back at Fraser. ‘What is it with you and Russians? Do you really hate them that much?’

  ‘I’m not exactly in love with them,’ said Fraser.

  ‘Does that mean you think I am?’

  ‘I think you’re looking at the world through rose-coloured glasses,’ said Fraser. ‘But then when it comes to foreign policy, I know you have me filed under “B” for Backwoodsman.’

  ‘And what am I, a Red agent?’

  ‘I wouldn’t classify you as a bleeding heart, but all the same I think you’re way off base. I understand what you’re trying to do. I’m not looking for a fight with the Russians either. But by God, I want to make sure that they never try and pick a fight with us.’

  ‘Do you think they could afford to?’ asked Connors. ‘And even if we win, what would we be left with? If we threw away three-quarters of our nuclear arsenals we’d still both have enough to commit global suicide. That kind of war is unwinnable. Do you really want your grandchildren’s children to grow up in cities ringed with antiballistic missile systems? We have to continue building towards a lasting peace – but on an entirely different foundation. That means creating relationships based on a new understanding of the global realities, economic, social, and political. It means reconciling our own aims and aspirations with those of the rest of the world.’

  ‘And you think the President’s “most favoured nation” trade policies with Russia and China are going to help keep the peace?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘Pie in the sky,’ snorted Fraser. ‘The Reds are never going to give up. They’re going to keep chipping away at us, and you’re playing right into their hands. Trading with these guys is like handing them a loaded revolver. Don’t kid yourself it works both ways, it only works to their advantage. Hell, we’ve used economic pressure on South America long enough. You only have to consider how our own foreign policy decisions have been influenced by the commercial lobbies. Supposing a big chunk of our industry was relying on orders from China and Russia and those contracts meant the difference between boom and bust? We’ve already got problems with communist insurgents in Thailand, Indonesia and the Philippines. What the hell would we do if Moscow or Peking came out of the closet and openly supported a take-over bid? Cancel the grain contracts, the chemical plants and construction deals? Throw our people out of work? You’d be able to stand on Capitol Hill and hear the sound of banks foreclosing all the way from Texas to North Dakota. Can you imagine the howls of pain we’d get from the Treasury? Not to mention Congress. There be more lobbyists on our back than flies on a cow’s teat.

  ‘The Reds don’t have this problem. They rule from the top down. Okay, there may be some argument over policy behind closed doors but once it’s hammered out that’s it. They just hand down the tablets of stone to rubber-stamp legislatures who are so used to applauding, they’d give a standing ovation to news of their own execution. They got it all sewn up. They have complete control of the media and, at the first sign of unrest they can call on the police and the army to come to the aid of the party.

  ‘Democracies don’t operate like that. You pay a price for freedom. Liberty for the individual is an idea I subscribe to but it makes this country ungovernable. Back in the old days, if you were a Jew in Russia, or part of an oppressed minority anywhere else you voted with your feet. And once you got here if you didn’t like it in the East you headed West. But nowadays, there’s no place to go. Anyone with a beef hangs a placard round his neck and takes to the streets or starts learning how to make bombs. There are guys out there pushing every nutbrain idea you can think of, from Learn To Love The Ku Klux Klan to Five Million Cokeheads Can’t Be Wrong.

  ‘With everybody fighting for their own corner, it’s impossible to arrive at a consensus on what is in the national interest. Result? Lame-duck presidents, hamstrung administrations. Wheels and deals. Trade-offs and sell-outs. Shift and drift. Whenever there’s a choice people always go for the soft option. It’s human nature. We’ve had it too good too long. Americans want tomorrow today and they want it on easy terms with no down payments.

  ‘That’s the difference between us and them. Those guys in Moscow and Peking can put their consumer dreams on hold whenever they want. If it comes to the crunch, they can even throw their economies into reverse. Russia and China don’t need our technology to survive. They can replace it with ideology. Take it from me, they’re happy to pick our brains, and we’ve got idiots falling over themselves to make a swift buck. What they don’t realize is that they’re selling our country short.’

  ‘Do you mean that we shouldn’t trade with them at all?’

  ‘Damn right. We don’t need them. They need us. They need our currency to buy goods, our grain, our meat. They can’t even feed themselves. You may think it’s only a few million bushels of wheat or another chemical plant but what you’re really doing is bolstering communism. Supporting a government whose avowed aim is the overthrow of America. The free world. Democracy. Yet all they have to do is give you people in the White House a bottle of vodka and you’re ready to rush out and kiss Lenin’s tomb. But nothing has changed. Every shipment of Russian bullion is just another gold nail in our coffin. For Chrissakes, when are you guys going to wise up? These people are the enemy!’

  Jean Seagren returned with Fraser’s rye and Connors’ coffee on a tray. Connors pulled down the folding table from the back of the seat in front and took the offered cup.

  ‘Sugar?’

  ‘No, I’m feeling strong-willed today.’ He fumbled in his pocket for his sweeteners. On the pack it stated clearly ‘No aftertaste.’ Another lie. The world was full of them.

  Fraser watched Seagren move out of the cabin, then leaned confidentially towards Connors. ‘If you’re ever in the market, that little lady is a fantastic piece of ass …’

  Friday/September 21

  AIR FORCE ONE/WASHINGTON-MOSCOW

  Colonel Buzz Bricker, Air Force One’s captain, came down the aisle. One would have expected the President’s pilot to look like John Wayne with wings. Bricker was under six feet and looked like a sharp-eyed accountant, just back from a vacation in Bahamas. He had fifteen thousand faultless hours in his logbook and one of the best instrument ratings in the Air Force.

  ‘Hi,’ said Connors.

  Bricker sat down beside him. ‘Where’s Fraser?’

  ‘He’s lying down. He’s another one of these people who can sleep anywhere. How’s it going up front?’

  Bricker grimaced. ‘Not too bad. We used our inertial navigation systems to get across the water, spot-checking every hour with sun shots. At the moment we still have radio contact with ground stations on the medium wave bands, and I don’t know whether you know or not, but the Navy has a line of picket ships strung out across the Atlantic.’

  ‘Ah… that’s comforting.’

  ‘Yeah, they’re keeping station a hundred miles apart. Means we don’t have too far to paddle. They gave us the weather up ahead. Thank God we had INS – our compasses are totally out of whack. At one point, they were indicating magnetic north as somewhere down on the equator.’ Bricker grinned. ‘At least we didn’t have to worry about a midair collision. I bet the sky hasn’t been this empty since Lindbergh flew over in 1927.’

  ‘That suits me,’ said Connors. ‘I used to enjoy all this when I was training with the Navy. When I think back on some of the things I did… I must have been out of my mind. I guess I’m getting too old. All I want to do now is stay on the ground. That must seem crazy to you.’

  Bricker shook his head. ‘I know a lot of guys who are happy flying desks. They do their minimum numbers of hours to keep their rating and that’s it. I’m happy to keep going – especially with the job I’ve got.’ He smiled. ‘I’ve made all the mistakes I’m going to make – and got away with it. All I’ve got to worry about now is some other damn fool making a mistake.’

  They slipped through a couple more time zones and landed at th
e big US Air Force base outside Frankfurt. It was just after midnight, local time. Connors walked up to the nose door to get a breath of fresh air while the plane was being refuelled.

  Bricker emerged from the flight deck. ‘I’d better go and dig our two Russians out of the officer’s mess, then we’ll press on to the Motherland. I won’t rush. When I’m using Eyeballs Mark Two, I prefer to land in daylight.’

  ‘I hope they know we’re coming,’ said Connors.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Bricker. He pointed at the window. ‘It’s bullet-proof glass.’

  Because of the radar breakdown the Russians had suggested that it might be a good idea if Air Force One’s crew had some help from a Russian navigator and a radio operator. To the White House, it seemed like an offer they couldn’t refuse.

  The two crewmen had flown into Frankfurt in the late afternoon aboard a Russian Air Force Tupolev Tu-26, a sharp, sleek, supersonic bomber known to NATO as the Backfire-B. In service with the Russian equivalent of SAC, the Tu-26 was Moscow’s answer to the US Air Force’s Rockwell B-1B. It’s face was familiar but very few people outside the Iron Curtain had seen the real thing and practically the whole base turned out to take a look at it.

  The Tupolev’s crew must have had the bomb bay loaded with roubles, because they aimed straight for the base PX, negotiated a fast rate of exchange, piled up three jeeps with crates of Coca-Cola, bourbon, nylons, Polaroid cameras, cartons of Marlboro cigarettes and every available copy of Penthouse, Popular Science, and Practical Mechanix, rushed back to the bomber, stowed everything aboard, shook hands all round, yelled ‘Dosvidanya!’ through the cockpit window, and headed for the runway while the Base Intelligence Officer was putting the fourth reel of film in his camera.

  Connors closed his eyes as Air Force One angled up into the darkness and set about the task of persuading his biological clock that it really was 2 A.M. and not time for a dry martini. He fell asleep as Air Force One entered the air corridor that crossed East Germany and Poland. When he woke up, he found Fraser shaking his shoulder.