Michael Crichton - Sphere

I AM COMING.

Beth quickly scanned the screens.

“Inner thermals are activated. He’s coming, all right.”

They felt a thump , and Norman turned to look out the porthole. The green squid was already outside, the huge suckered arms coiling around the base of the habitat. One great arm slapped flat against the porthole, the suckers distorted against the glass.

I AM HERE.

“Harryyy!” Beth shouted.

There was a tentative jolt, as squid arms gripped the habitat. The slow, agonizing creak of metal.

Harry came running into the room. “What is it?”

“You know what it is, Harry!” Beth shouted.

“No, no, what is it?”

“It’s the squid, Harry!”

“Oh my God, no,” Harry moaned.

The habitat shook powerfully. The room lights flickered and went out. There was only flashing red now, from the emergency lights.

Norman turned to him. “Stop it, Harry.”

“What are you talking about?” he cried plaintively. “You know what I’m talking about, Harry.”

“I don’t!”

“Yes, you do, Harry. It’s you , Harry,” Norman said. “You’re doing it.”

“No, you’re wrong. It’s not me! I swear it’s not me!”

“Yes, Harry,” Norman said. “And if you don’t stop it, we’ll all die.”

The habitat shook again. One of the ceiling heaters exploded, showering fragments of hot glass and wire. “Come on, Harry…”

“No, no!”

“There’s not much time. You know you’re doing it.”

“The habitat can’t take much more, Norman,” Beth said.

“It can’t be me!”

“Yes, Harry. Face it, Harry. Face it now.”

Even as he spoke, Norman was looking for the syringe. He had left it somewhere in this room, but papers were sliding off the desktops, monitors crashing to the floor, chaos all around him…

The whole habitat rocked again, and there was a tremendous explosion from another cylinder. New, rising alarms sounded, and a roaring vibration that Norman instantly recognized-water, under great pressure, rushing into the habitat.

“Flooding in C!” Beth shouted, reading the consoles. She ran down the corridor. He heard the metal clang of bulkhead doors as she shut them. The room was filled with salty mist.

Norman pushed Harry against the wall. “Harry! Face it and stop it!”

“It can’t be me, it can’t be me,” Harry moaned. Another jolting impact, staggering them.

“It can’t be me!” Harry cried. “It has nothing to do with me!”

And then Harry screamed, and his body twisted, and Norman saw Beth withdraw the syringe from his shoulder, the needle tipped with blood.

“What are you doing?” Harry cried, but already his eyes were glassy and vacant. He staggered at the next impact, fell drunkenly on his knees to the floor. “No,” he said softly. “No…”

And he collapsed, falling face-down on the carpet. Immediately the wrenching of metal stopped. The alarms stopped. Everything became ominously silent, except for the soft gurgle of water from somewhere within the habitat.

Beth moved swiftly, reading one screen after another.

“Inner off. Peripherals off. Everything off. All right! No readings!”

Norman ran to the porthole. The squid had disappeared. The sea bottom outside was deserted.

“Damage report!” Beth shouted. “Main power out! E Cylinder out! C Cylinder out! B Cylinder…”

Norman spun, looked at her. If B Cyl was gone, their life support would be gone, they would certainly die. “B Cylinder holding,” she said finally. Her body sagged. “We’re okay, Norman.”

Norman collapsed on the carpet, exhausted, suddenly feeling the strain and tension in every part of his body.

It was over. The crisis had passed. They were going to be all right, after all. Norman felt his body relax.

It was over.

The blood had stopped flowing from Harry’s broken nose and now he seemed to be breathing more regularly, more easily. Norman lifted the icepack to look at the swollen face, and adjusted the flow of the intravenous drip in Harry’s arm. Beth had started the intravenous line in Harry’s hand after several unsuccessful attempts. They were dripping an anesthetic mixture into him. Harry’s breath smelled sour, like tin. But otherwise he was okay. Out cold.

The radio crackled. “I’m at the submarine,” Beth said. “Going aboard now.”

Norman glanced out the porthole at DH-7, saw Beth climbing up into the dome beside the sub. She was going to press the “Delay” button, the last time such a trip would be necessary. He turned back to Harry.

The computer didn’t have any information about the effects of keeping a person asleep for twelve hours straight, but that was what they would have to do. Either Harry would make it, or he wouldn’t.

Same as the rest of us, Norman thought. He glanced at the monitor clocks. They showed 1230 hours, and counted backward. He put a blanket over Harry and went over to the console.

The sphere was still there, with its changed pattern of grooves. In all the excitement he had almost forgotten his initial fascination with the sphere, where it had come from, what it meant. Although they understood now what it meant. What had Beth called it? A mental enzyme. An enzyme was something that made chemical reactions possible without actually participating in them. Our bodies needed to perform chemical reactions, but our body temperatures were too cold for most chemical reactions to proceed smoothly. So we had enzymes to help the process along, speed it up. The enzymes made it all possible. And she had called the sphere a mental enzyme.

Very clever, he thought. Clever woman. Her impulsiveness had turned out to be just what was needed. With Harry unconscious, Beth still looked beautiful, but Norman was relieved to find that his own features had returned to pudgy normalcy. He saw his own familiar reflection in the screen as he stared at the sphere on the monitor.

That sphere.

With Harry unconscious, he wondered if they would ever know exactly what had happened, exactly what it had been like. He remembered the lights, like fireflies. And what had Harry said? Something about foam. The foam. Norman heard a whirring sound, and looked out the porthole.

The sub was moving.

Freed of its tethers, the yellow minisub glided across the bottom, its lights shining on the ocean floor. Norman pushed the intercom button: “Beth? Beth!”

“I’m here, Norman.”

“What’re you doing?”

“Just take it easy, Norman.”

“What’re you doing in the sub, Beth?”

“Just a precaution, Norman.”

“Are you leaving?”

She laughed over the intercom. A light, relaxed laugh. “No, Norman. Just take it easy.”

“Tell me what you’re doing.”

“It’s a secret.”

“Come on, Beth.” This was all he needed, he thought, to have Beth crack up now. He thought again of her impulsiveness, which moments before he had admired. He did not admire it any more. “Beth?”

“Talk to you later,” she said.

The sub turned in profile, and he saw red boxes in its claw arms. He could not read the lettering on the boxes, but they looked vaguely familiar. As he watched, the sub moved past the high fin of the spacecraft, and then settled to the bottom. One of the boxes was released, plumping softly on the muddy floor. The sub started up again, churning sediment, and glided forward a hundred yards. Then it stopped again, and released another box. It continued this way along the length of the spacecraft.

“Beth?”

No answer. Norman squinted at the boxes. There was lettering on them, but he could not read them at this distance. The sub had turned now, and was coming directly toward DH-8. The lights shone at him. It moved closer and the sensor alarms went off, clanging and flashing red lights. He hated these alarms, he thought, going over to the console, looking at the buttons. How the hell did you turn them off? He glanced at Harry, but Harry remained unconscious.