Майкл Крайтон - The Andromeda Evolution

For a split second, Stone caught the wink of sunlight off the helmet visor of a pilot who was looking up, watching them in awe.

Vedala and Stone clung to the ledge, straining the tether hooks they’d used to keep themselves attached to the platform. Engulfed in a blinding white haze, with fighter jets screaming past, the scientists could only huddle together.

Ten seconds later the platform emerged above the pillowy cloud.

In an iconic long-distance photo taken by a Brazilian reconnaissance plane at the extreme top of its operational ceiling, the two survivors were seen one last time during the ascent—two tiny specks of white-gold humanity, seated side by side as the glinting metallic platform rose, clinging to a line of silver light over a surreal landscape of billowing white clouds.

Below them, swarms of fighter jets still jockeyed with each other for position over the Amazon jungle—each pilot waiting on orders. A frenzy of diplomatic overtures and dire threats was unfolding between nations. By all indications, the world was on the brink of war. And rising above this churning scrum of billions of dollars of advanced military hardware was a delicate line of ribbon filament. This tether to the stars had emerged in five days to become the most valuable structure ever built—worth more than every grand pyramid, ornate medieval castle, or towering superskyscraper combined.

With no guidelines established and no forewarning, the international bureaucratic apparatus had been caught off guard. This leap into the future had happened too fast. Ultimately, no nation was prepared to pull the trigger.

Despite all the noise and confusion, nothing happened.

Lethally armed jets thundered to and fro in the cloudy depths below, the roar of their engines receding, their diminishing shock waves reverberating through the tether long after they were lost from view. The shadowed predators snapped at one another, bared their metal fangs, but they did not strike.

Now the danger lay above, not below.

An eerie silence had set in as the atmosphere diminished. There was no longer enough air to transmit sound. The roar of the wind faded. Now, Stone and Vedala could feel more than hear the muted singing of the ribbon and the whine of the electric motors pulling them inexorably higher.

The sight of the ground far below had transformed into an abstract painting, too far away and beautiful to inspire a true fear of falling.

Vedala finally lifted her gaze and gasped when she saw the horizon. It had been only about six minutes, hardly enough time to catch her breath from the stomach-wrenching initial acceleration. Earth’s curvature was already visible in nebulous shades of blue and white. The climber had passed through the ozone layer and into the mesosphere, miles higher than any spy aircraft or weather balloon had ever traveled.

In this silence and stillness, it had just become clear that Stone and Vedala were leaving the planet and all its inhabitants behind.

Stone spoke. “It’s amazing,” he said. “Beyond beautiful.”

The two remaining field team members stared in awe at the world as they had never seen it—an expanse of twinkling ocean, wrinkled mountains, and a horizon of brilliant light where all color and beauty faded into the cold emptiness of outer space.

“It is beautiful,” responded Vedala. “Seven billion people living under that thin layer of atmosphere. It looks so delicate and fragile. Because it is.”

A few more minutes passed in mutual appreciation before they turned back to the job at hand.

“Do you think Kline can be reasoned with?” asked Stone. “Can she undo what she’s started?”

“No. What’s done is done.”

“How are we going to fix this?”

“We’re not, James,” replied Vedala. “The Andromeda Strain is like an oil spill. Once it’s happened, we can’t stop it. All we can do is try to contain it. We’ve got to try to keep it from spreading.”

A sudden acceleration cut off the conversation.

Earth’s atmosphere had been left behind, along with its gravitational pull. Blood was rushing to Stone’s head, bloating his face and clogging his sinuses. Eyes fixed on the ribbon above, his mental orientation shifted. Now it seemed as if he were falling away from Earth.

In microgravity, he had lost all sense of up and down.

Without any atmosphere to provide drag, the climber soon reached a velocity of over 7,500 miles per hour. The only indication of the great speed was a trembling vibration.

No stars were visible at first; the reflection of the sun on the Pacific Ocean washed out the sight of them. But soon countless pinpricks of light emerged: the combined output of a trillion other solar systems, stained reddish near the horizon and then melting into the faint bluish patina of the Milky Way.

For just over three hours, the scientists bore silent witness to the raw beauty of the universe.

A lurching deceleration was the only indication the platform was approaching its destination. The trip had carried them to an elevation of over twenty-five thousand miles. The dark bulk of the International Space Station loomed above, and the planet had receded to a blue marble far below.

“Do you see it?” asked Stone.

Fear was audible in his voice, even over the static-filled radio feed.

The ISS was made up of a pieced-together collection of cylindrical modules, zigzag trusses, and acres of gracefully draped solar panels. It was the length of a football field, hovering dark and silent. Plumes of gas jetted from the Progress module as the ungainly structure continued to accelerate away from the planet.

“Roger that,” replied Vedala. “We’re not a moment too soon.”

The underbelly of the Mark IV Wildfire laboratory module had been clawed completely open. The ribbon disappeared into the broken module, forming a kind of dock. In the sharp light of the vacuum, Vedala and Stone could see where a patch of the module had turned a slick, wet-looking purple. The material was roiling and moving, as if parasitic worms were exploring under its skin.

“The new evolution is here, and it’s spreading.”

Docking Procedure

THE PLATFORM REACHED THE END OF ITS TETHER AT UTC 17:02:42, slowing to a silent stop under the belly of the sprawling International Space Station.

Stone and Vedala sat on the narrow ledge of the climber for a few moments. Their legs tingled as the steady vibration of the motor cut off and the platform went still. Moving awkwardly in their pressurized suits, they finally began to unsnap the seat belts they had rigged with NASA-issued tether hooks. In the immense silence their own breathing was loud in their ears.

Strapped down tight for hours, the scientists were surprised as their bodies lifted from the platform. They’d become nearly weightless over the course of the journey. The threat of falling had been large in their minds for the first few minutes of ascent, but now Earth was a small orb far below, and the fear of falling had been replaced by a fear of simply floating away into the infinite night.

“We need a way in,” Vedala said over the radio. “Our oxygen and heat aren’t going to last forever.”

Feeling his boots pressing lightly into the platform’s grating, Stone realized he wasn’t completely weightless. The ISS was still ascending, generating a faint acceleration that simulated gravity. Falling off the platform was truly a risk. One slip, and they’d plummet into infinity—a slow death by asphyxiation.

Stone looked over to see Vedala inspecting their makeshift dock. The exterior illumination around her visor glimmered, wreathing her face in a ghostly light. Her eyes had settled on the remains of the Wildfire Mark IV laboratory module directly above them.