Fade Out

by Patrick Tilley

  ‘Is it a spacecraft?’ asked Connors. Both he and Fraser had to act as if they knew nothing about it.

  ‘It’s a craft of some kind,’ admitted Rudenkov. ‘But it didn’t land. It came out of the ground.’

  ‘You mean you think it landed somewhere else and burrowed its way towards Lake Balkash?’

  ‘It’s a possibility that’s been considered,’ said Rudenkov. ‘You’ll have to talk to someone like Grigorienko for the scientific view. Not that our scientists know all that much. They’re as baffled as the rest of us.’

  ‘So, what is the situation?’ asked Connors.

  Rudenkov took a long pull on his cigarette. ‘In a large nutshell, it’s this: on the twenty-seventh of August, thirty-eight coal miners were trapped five hundred metres underground when a series of mine shafts collapsed – due apparently to a severe earth tremor. Four days later, a circular, incandescent object, twenty-five metres in diameter and five metres tall, surfaced in a deserted area southwest of Lake Balkash. Two days after surfacing, all atmospheric interference had terminated.’

  ‘How far away was the coal mine?’ asked Connors.

  ‘About six hundred and fifty kilometres, north of the craft’s present position.’

  Connors looked at Fraser. If the two incidents were related, as the Russians seemed to think, Commissar had obviously landed in the wrong place and had been burning his way through the earth to his allotted position at about six and a half kilometres an hour.

  ‘Did you find the craft’s original landing point?’

  Premier Leonovich shook his head. ‘An aerial search has been made, but, so far, we have found nothing. I’m told it’s possible that it may have landed in some other country.’ He smiled. ‘It could have been America.’

  Connors’ heart missed a beat. He looked surprised. ‘America?’

  ‘Why not?’ said Leonovich. ‘If it can travel six hundred kilometres why not six thousand?’

  Connors thought it was time to switch back to Rudenkov. ‘What happened after it surfaced?’

  ‘On cooling,’ continued Rudenkov, ‘the object was seen to be made of a semitranslucent black crystal. The shape was like an overturned saucer. The material defied conventional analysis but the tests proved it to be of exceptional hardness. Approximately one metre below the surface, a second layer of material with a moulded surface pattern like the human brain was observed. There were no hatches, panels or protuberances of any kind. All attempts to excavate the object were repulsed by a strong magnetic field, generation of heat, ultrasonic waves, or by generation of a force field that neutralized all electrical apparatus.’ Rudenkov smiled. ‘You can see I have memorized the reports quite well. Two days ago, radar transmissions were once again interrupted, and a force field with a diameter of eleven kilometres was generated around the object. In addition to these two problems, there are indications that the object is growing.’

  ‘Growing?’ Connors did his best to look puzzled.

  It all sounded depressingly familiar except for two important points. Commissar had no spherical hatch, and thus contained no equivalent of Friday. Connors knew that Commissar’s present position was almost exactly on the same latitude as Crusoe, and on the reciprocal longitude. It hinted at some kind of pattern, a symmetry, but did it mean anything more than a tidy mind, as Wetherby had suggested?

  ‘Once you knew where it was,’ said Connors, ‘why did you conceal it from us?’

  ‘That was a temporary arrangement,’ replied Leonovich. ‘Some of our people thought it might prove technically advantageous to try to find the mechanism by which Commissar, as you call it, impeded radar transmissions.’ He smiled. ‘I’m sure, if the situation had been reversed, some of your people would have suggested a similar cover-up.’

  ‘It’s possible,’ said Connors. ‘But the fact remains that, wherever it landed, Commissar surfaced inside the borders of the Soviet Union.’

  Leonovich pursed his lips and nodded in slow agreement. Marshal Rudenkov leaned over to Tibor and whispered behind his hand. Tibor got up and left the room.

  Rudenkov wagged a finger at Fraser. ‘Sending your planes over was not a wise thing to do. Our air and rocket forces were on a full war alert for the whole three weeks. One slip and we would have all been finished.’

  ‘If we hadn’t taken the chance, we would never have known you had double-crossed us,’ said Fraser aimiably.

  Connors winced, then relaxed as Chaliapin tactfully translated ‘double-crossed’ as ‘something to hide’. Tibor returned with a heavy brown briefcase.

  Rudenkov unlocked it and pulled out a bulky green file untidily stuffed with papers and tied with blue tape. He began to pick at the knot with blunt fingers. ‘I’m glad we have this chance to speak frankly,’ he said. ‘I think it’s about time we got this game over with. The truth is this spacecraft has given us a big headache as well. You may have had problems, but you haven’t got the Chinese sitting on your back doorstep. We’ve already done some thinking on how best to get rid of this thing, but, as you know, that is only half the problem.’ Rudenkov finally got the knot undone. He untied the file and removed a large brown envelope.

  Connors recognized the colour and felt a chill premonition of disaster.

  Premier Leonovich laid his hand on the blue leather folder containing the President’s message. ‘My friend, I think you should take this back. We have both broken our word in a patriotic attempt to protect our two countries, but there is no longer anything to be gained by continuing this deception. It’s time for a fresh start.’ Leonovich pushed the folder across the table to Connors. ‘If you genuinely wish to resume honest negotiations, then you could begin by explaining this.’ The Soviet Premier took the envelope from Marshal Rudenkov and dropped it on top of the one that Fraser had brought from the Defense Department in Washington. They were identical.

  Fraser stared at the two envelopes with stunned disbelief. Connors picked up the top one, read the name and address printed in the top left-hand corner and offered it to Fraser.

  ‘Since it’s from your office, maybe you’d better open it.’

  Fraser took it from him and untucked the flap. ‘How did you get hold of this?’

  Rudenkov shrugged. ‘Through a friend…’

  Inside were a dozen ten-by-twelve-inch black and white photographs. They had all been printed with a US Air Force serial number and the words ‘TOP SECRET’ in white in the bottom right-hand corner, and on the back, stamped in red, were the words ‘Department of Defense’. The pictures included oblique aerial shots of the crater on Crow Ridge, Crusoe, Friday, views of the Rockville buildings and trailer site, and the base camp on Highway 22. Fraser and Connors had both seen some of the photos before. They formed part of a series taken by a special Air Force unit documenting the Crusoe project.

  Fraser slid the photographs towards Connors. ‘They even got a picture of you.’

  Connors looked down at the photographs but didn’t pick them up. He opened his mouth to say something but the words remained locked in his throat. As he sat back helplessly, Rudenkov slapped the table and roared with good-natured laughter.

  It was the first time Connors had been caught lying since he’d stolen money from his mother’s purse at the age of eight. The lies hadn’t stopped, of course, but the shock and humiliation of that first exposure had brought out the secretive side of his character. Over the years, nourished by success, the carefully-planned deceptions and smooth-tongued explanations had grown in complexity, and somewhere along the line, he had begun to lie to himself. The silken yarn of deceit had become so closely interwoven with the raw thread of truth it was impossible to distinguish one from the other.

  Coming to America, the street-level crash course in communication, competing against the homegrown boys on the block, using his native cunning wherever he lacked physical strength, citizenship, changing his name, recreating the past – it had all helped spin a protective cocoon around himself. This time, he had been well and truly nail
ed. The photographs in front of him, supplied by a Red well-wisher in Washington, had exposed him for what he was, the principal agent and instigator of a deliberate attempt by the government of one nation to deceive another – a nation with whom he had worked for years in a genuine effort to achieve better relations.

  He’d come a long way from the case of the missing fifty cents but the pain he felt was as fresh as it had been thirty years ago. Connors took a deep breath and started again. ‘What is it you want to know?’

  ‘Everything,’ said Leonovich. ‘Our friend has kept us well informed on the Crusoe Project but we’d like to hear it again from you.’

  The only way out of that situation was to tell the truth. It would be an interesting experience. ‘I think this would be a good time to bring in the rest of our team,’ said Connors.

  ‘Good… we’ll move next door.’ Leonovich stood up. Connors and the others followed suit.

  Marshal Rudenkov approached Fraser with an amused twinkle in his eye and said, in heavily-accented English, ‘No more double-cross – finish, okay?’ He held out his hand.

  ‘Okay…’

  ‘Good.’ Rudenkov gripped Fraser’s hand and pumped it up and down as if he was trying to raise water from a fifty-foot well. He picked up his pack of Camel cigarettes and showed it to Fraser. ‘American fantastic. You – we fight German together. Is good. Now we fight again.’ Then speaking in rapid Russian, with Tibor translating, Rudenkov said, ‘If we don’t get rid of these two blackheads soon, we will all end up planting rice.’ He made a swift hammer movement with his fist. ‘I think it’s vital we hit them both at the same time.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Fraser. ‘It’s our only chance.’

  Marshal Rudenkov patted Fraser on the arm and walked out of the study with Premier Leonovich. Tibor followed.

  ‘It looks as if we struck out with all bases loaded,’ said Chaliapin.

  Connors smiled. ‘Don’t worry, Dan. We may still come out even at the end of the series.’ He put the President’s rejected message back in his briefcase and wondered how to pull himself clear of the wreckage. They’d achieved their objective – Russian co-operation – but his artful plan had fallen flat on its face, casting doubts on the President’s integrity and badly weakening his own credibility as a negotiator with the Russians. It could even mean an end to his usefulness. Yet there was still no joy in it for Fraser, for it was the photographs stolen by someone with access to highly sensitive areas of the Defense Department that had demolished their negotiating position. Whoever it was had to be on, or close to, the Crusoe Project. All the photographs connected with the Project were processed in the mobile lab on Crow Ridge, then forwarded to the Defense Department for strictly limited ‘eyes only’ distribution.

  Fraser picked up the stolen envelope. ‘When I get back, I swear I’m going to track down the son of a bitch who did this. I don’t care if I have to take the Pentagon apart brick by brick.’ He slipped it into his case and snapped down the locks. ‘Otherwise we might as well give them the keys to the whole fucking building.’

  ‘It looks as if they’ve already got them,’ said Connors.

  CROW RIDGE/MONTANA

  Throughout the rest of Thursday, Crusoe continued to change shape, and by Friday morning, the last vestiges of the dome had disappeared. The spherical hatch was completely enclosed within the black crystal hull. The hull itself now had the profile of a shallow, smooth-tipped Islamic dome made up of four curving sections. Neame supervised the dawn survey and reported that Crusoe was now thirty-three and a half feet tall and eighty-six feet wide. He had grown some ten and a half feet taller in the last eighteen hours. The figures were plotted on a graph. It showed that the growth curve, although still rising steeply, was beginning to arc over to the right. It was an encouraging sign. If the line continued to curve into a sloping S-shape, it meant that the growth rate would slacken and then peter out altogether as Crusoe reached his full height.

  ‘Can you project the curve to give us some idea of where that point might be?’ asked Wedderkind.

  ‘Not yet,’ said Neame. ‘We really need to plot a couple more measurements on the graph before we can extrapolate with any degree of accuracy.’

  ‘I don’t think we ought to overlook the possibility that if the curve does level out, the period of zero growth might merely be a prelude to a new growth cycle,’ said Page.

  ‘Page,’ said Neame. ‘I’m really getting pissed off with you – ’

  ‘Now, gentlemen, gentlemen,’ began Lovell.

  Neame ignored him. ‘The only time you come alive is when you’re spreading bad news. If you really want to tell us something, how about telling us how this thing does what it’s doing? You’re supposed to be a chemist. Shouldn’t you be coming up with the answers?’

  ‘I’ve taken my share of the work as far as I can,’ huffed Page. ‘My reports and analyses are all complete. I don’t see why I should be made responsible for other people’s incompetence.’

  ‘In other words,’ said Neame, ‘you’ve got no fucking idea what’s happening.’

  ‘Okay, okay, that’s enough,’ said Wedderkind. ‘Let’s just hold it right there,’ He moved in between Neame and Page.

  ‘Totally unnecessary,’ muttered Lovell. ‘I’ve rarely seen such infantile behaviour – ’

  ‘Yes, okay, Mike,’ said Wedderkind. Lovell, the senior, grey-haired member of the team, preferred a calmer, contemplative, pipe-smoking approach to all problems, no matter how pressing. ‘I guess we’re all getting a little jumpy – ’

  ‘Disgraceful…’ Lovell was still puffing away in the background.

  ‘Mike…’ Wedderkind silenced him with a look. ‘It’s only natural in view of what’s happened. The loss of three colleagues, the continued frustration of our research efforts and now, the tension due to the general deterioration of conditions here on the Ridge and the lack of sleep. Let’s just keep calm and keep it together.’ Wedderkind turned to Neame. ‘I don’t think any of us can tell you what’s happening, Rog. I certainly can’t – in fact, I think it’s time to admit that we are all way out of our depth. The best we can do is watch, in the hope of understanding something.’

  Neame nodded and began to simmer down.

  ‘What do you want to do?’ asked Wedderkind. ‘Go on checking at twelve-hour intervals?’

  ‘Yes. It’ll save us getting up in the middle of the night,’ said Neame. ‘Not that we’re going to get much sleep with those tremors.’

  ‘No… I think I ought to mention that General Allbright has suggested that because of the tremors, the cutoff zone and the, ah – general air of uncertainty, we should begin a partial evacuation of the Ridge, starting with nonessential personnel. If any of you feel you fall into that category, let me know after breakfast.’

  ‘Do we just put down our own names, or can we suggest other people?’ Neame’s question was aimed at Wedderkind, but his eyes were on Page.

  At 6 P.M. Neame went out again with his team to check Crusoe’s measurements. They found that Crusoe had grown five feet taller and four feet wider since their dawn survey. He was now thirty-nine feet tall and ninety feet wide. The ground around the base of the hull had been fractured and pushed back as his width had increased. The spherical hatch was now almost completely swallowed up by the underlying cortex which, as far as they could tell, was still its original size.

  The new measurements were plotted on the graph and they showed that the growth rate was continuing to slacken.

  ‘What do you think, Rog?’ asked Wedderkind.

  ‘Well, if we take the optimistic view, he could stabilize at a height of anything between fifty and sixty feet, somewhere around Tuesday or Wednesday. You can see the curve I’ve projected, but it’s still just a guess. The line between the dawn plot and this evening’s is not curving over to the right all that much.’

  ‘No, but it’s going to have to start soon,’ mused Wedderkind. ‘The Ridge isn’t big enough for both of us.’

&n
bsp; ‘There’s something else that’s bugging us,’ said Gilligan, one of the other three remaining engineers. ‘The angular difference between the four curved surfaces of the hull.’

  ‘What about it?’ asked Wedderkind.

  ‘It’s increasing.’

  ‘So -?’

  ‘Well, I know we have to accept the fact that Crusoe can grow, even if we don’t know how, but with all this talk about a possible takeoff surely the logical end result would be a tall, streamlined shape.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Vincent. ‘Like the nose cone of a rocket.’

  ‘With a circular cross section,’ said Hadden.

  ‘But it’s not happening,’ said Neame. ‘This cat’s growing corners.’

  While the research group was busy discussing these latest observations, one of the Corporation’s converted diesels came up to collect another batch of cadets for medical processing. The driver had a message for Allbright from the base camp. A cadet took it over to the command hut on horseback. Allbright was going over details of the temporary evacuation with his two senior cadets, Harris and Cameron, and Kirkonnen, the senior Air Force technician.

  Allbright read the brief message. It was the signal he’d been waiting for. ‘Mr Harris, I’m going to leave you to supervise the rest of the evacuation to the base camp area,’ He looked at his watch. ‘I have to go to Washington. The Defense Department has cancelled all further medical checks so you may need to modify the timetable we’ve set up.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Any further movement orders for Air Force personnel will come through the Corporation’s office manager down at the base camp. In the meantime, I expect you and Mr Cameron to give Mr Wedderkind and Mr Connors your full co-operation. Is that understood?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Harris. ‘Shall I call up a diesel?’

  ‘No. It’s a beautiful evening, I think I’ll ride over to Broken Mill. If you’d care to escort me, we’ll leave in thirty minutes.’