Michael Crichton - Sphere

“Jeez,” Harry said. “Take it easy with him.”

I CAN EASILY MAKE YOU REGRET YOUR WORDS, NORMAN.

Norman was noticing, in passing, that Jerry’s vocabulary and syntax were now flawless. All pretense of naivete, of an alien quality, had been dropped. But Norman felt stronger, more confident, as the conversation progressed. He knew whom he was talking to now. He wasn’t talking to any alien. There weren’t any unknown assumptions. He was talking to a childish part of another human being.

I HAVE MORE POWER THAN YOU CAN IMAGINE.

“I know you have power, Jerry,” Norman said. “Big deal.”

Harry became suddenly agitated. “Norman. For Christ’s sake. You’re going to get us all killed.”

LISTEN TO HARRY. HE IS WISE.

“No, Jerry,” Norman said. “Harry is not wise. He is only afraid.”

HARRY IS NOT AFRAID. ABSOLUTELY NOT.

Norman decided to let that pass. “I’m talking to you, Jerry. Only to you. You are the one who is playing games.”

GAMES ARE STUPID.

“Yes, they are, Jerry. They are not worthy of you.”

GAMES ARE NOT OF INTEREST TO ANY INTELLIGENT PERSON.

“Then stop, Jerry. Stop the manifestations.”

I CAN STOP WHENEVER I WANT.

“I am not sure you can, Jerry.”

YES. I CAN.

“Then prove it. Stop this sport of manifestations.” There was a long pause. They waited for the response.

NORMAN YOUR TRICKS OF MANIPULATION ARE CHILDISH AND OBVIOUS TO THE POINT OF TEDIUM. I AM NOT INTERESTED IN TALKING WITH YOU FURTHER. I WILL DO EXACTLY AS I PLEASE AND I WILL MANIFEST AS I WISH.

“Our habitat cannot withstand more manifestations, Jerry-”

I DO NOT CARE.

“If you injure our habitat again, Harry will die.”

Harry said, “Me and everybody else, for Christ’s sake.”

I DO NOT CARE NORMAN.

“Why would you kill us, Jerry?”

YOU SHOULD NOT BE DOWN HERE IN THE FIRST PLACE. YOU PEOPLE DO NOT BELONG HERE. YOU ARE ARROGANT CREATURES WHO INTRUDE EVERYWHERE IN THE WORLD AND YOU HAVE TAKEN A GREAT FOOLISH RISK AND NOW YOU MUST PAY THE PRICE. YOU ARE AN UNCARING UNFEELING SPECIES WITH NO LOVE FOR ONE ANOTHER.

“That’s not true, Jerry.”

DO NOT CONTRADICT ME AGAIN, NORMAN.

“I’m sorry, but the unfeeling, uncaring person is you, Jerry. You do not care if you injure us. You do not care for our predicament. It is you who are uncaring, Jerry. Not us. You.”

ENOUGH.

“He’s not going to talk to you any more,” Harry said. “He’s really mad, Norman.”

And then the screen printed:

I WILL KILL YOU ALL.

Norman was sweating; he wiped his forehead, turned away from the words on the screen.

“I don’t think you can talk to this guy,” Beth said. “I don’t think you can reason with him.”

“You shouldn’t have made him angry,” Harry said. He was almost pleading. “Why did you make him angry like that, Norman?”

“I had to tell him the truth.”

“But you were so mean to him, and now he’s angry.”

“It doesn’t matter, angry or not,” Beth said. “Harry attacked us before, when he wasn’t angry.”

“You mean Jerry ,” Norman said to her. “Jerry attacked us.”

“Yes, right, Jerry.”

“That’s a hell of a mistake to make, Beth,” Harry said.

“You’re right, Harry. I’m sorry.”

Harry was looking at her in an odd way. Norman thought, Harry doesn’t miss a trick, and he isn’t going to let that one go by.

“I don’t know how you could make that confusion,” Harry said.

“I know. It was a slip of the tongue. It was stupid of me.”

“I’ll say.”

“I’m sorry,” Beth said. “Really I am.”

“Never mind,” Harry said. “It doesn’t matter.”

There was a sudden flatness in his manner, a complete indifference in his tone. Norman thought: Uh-oh.

Harry yawned and stretched. “You know,” he said, “I’m suddenly very tired. I think I’ll take a nap now.”

And he went off to the bunks.

“We have to do something,” Beth said. “We can’t talk him out of it.”

“You’re right,” Norman said. “We can’t.”

Beth tapped the screen. The words still glowed: I WILL KILL YOU ALL.

“Do you think he means it?”

“Yes.”

Beth stood, clenched her fists. “So it’s him or us.”

“Yes. I think so.”

The implications hung in the air, unspoken.

“This manifesting process of his,” Beth said. “Do you think he has to be completely unconscious to prevent it from happening?”

“Yes.”

“Or dead,” Beth said.

“Yes,” Norman said. That had occurred to him. It seemed so improbable, such an unlikely turn of events in his life, that he would now be a thousand feet under the water, contemplating the murder of another human being. Yet that was what he was doing.

“I’d hate to kill him,” Beth said.

“Me, too.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t even know how to begin to do it.”

“Maybe we don’t have to kill him,” Norman said. “Maybe we don’t have to kill him unless he starts some thing,” Beth said. Then she shook her head. “Oh hell, Norman, who’re we kidding? This habitat can’t survive another attack. We’ve got to kill him. I just don’t want to face up to it.”

“Neither do I,” Norman said.

“We could get one of those explosive spear guns and have an unfortunate accident. And then just wait for our time to be up, for the Navy to come and get us out of here.”

“I don’t want to do that.”

“I don’t, either,” Beth said. “But what else can we do?” “We don’t have to kill him,” Norman said. “Just make him unconscious.” He went to the first-aid cabinet, started going through the medicines.

“You think there might be something there?” Beth said.

“Maybe. An anesthetic, I don’t know.”

“Would that work?”

“I think anything that produces unconsciousness will work. I think.”

“I hope you’re right,” Beth said, “because if he starts dreaming and then manifests the monsters from his dreams, that wouldn’t be very good.”

“No. But anesthesia produces a dreamless, total state of unconsciousness.” Norman was looking at the labels on the bottles. “Do you know what these things are?”

“No,” Beth said, “but it’s all in the computer.” She sat down at the console. “Read me the names and I’ll look them up for you.”

“Diphenyl paralene.

Beth pushed buttons, scanned a screen of dense text. “It’s, uh… looks like… something for burns.”

“Ephedrine hydrochloride.”

Another screen. “It’s… I guess it’s for motion sickness.”

“Valdomet.”

“It’s for ulcers.”

“Sintag.”

“Synthetic opium analogue. It’s very short-acting.”

“Produces unconsciousness?” Norman asked.

“No. Not according to this. Anyway, it only lasts a few minutes.”

“Tarazine.”

“Tranquilizer. Causes drowsiness.”

“Good.” He set the bottle to one side.

“ ‘And may also cause bizarre ideation.’ “

“No,” he said, and put the bottle back. They didn’t need to have any bizarre ideation. “Riordan?”

“Antihistamine. For bites.”

“Oxalamine?”

“Antibiotic.”

“Chloramphenicol?”

“Another antibiotic.”

“Damn.” They were running out of bottles. “Parasolutrine?”

“It’s a soporific…”