Michael Crichton - Sphere

“You thought we were under attack again?” she said.

He nodded.

“Why would you think that, Norman?” she said.

Beth was looking at him again in that odd way. An appraising way, her stare very direct and cool. There was no hint of seductiveness to her. If anything, she conveyed the suspiciousness of the old Beth: You’re a man, and you’re a problem.

“Harry’s still unconscious, isn’t he? So why would you think we were being attacked?”

“I don’t know. I guess I was dreaming.”

Beth shrugged. “Maybe you felt the vibration of me walking on the floor,” she said. “Anyway, I’m glad you decided to sleep.”

That same appraising stare. As if there were something wrong with him.

“You haven’t slept enough, Norman.”

“None of us have.”

“You, particularly.”

“Maybe you’re right.” He had to admit he felt better now that he had slept for a couple of hours. He smiled. “Did you eat all the coffee and Danish?”

“There isn’t any coffee and Danish, Norman.”

“I know.”

“Then why would you say that?” she asked seriously.

“It was a joke, Beth.”

“Oh.”

“Just a joke. You know, a humorous reflection on our condition?”

“I see.” She was working with the screens. “By the way, what did you find out about the balloon?”

“The balloon?”

“The surface balloon. Remember we talked about it?” He shook his head. He didn’t remember.

“Before I went out to the sub, I asked about the control codes to send a balloon to the surface, and you said you’d look in the computer and see if you could find how to do it.”

“I did?”

“Yes, Norman. You did.”

He thought back. He remembered how he and Beth had lifted Harry’s inert, surprisingly heavy body off the floor, setting him on the couch, and how they had staunched the flow of blood from his nose while Beth had started an intravenous line, which she knew how to do from her work with lab animals. In fact, she had made a joke, saying she hoped Harry fared better than her lab animals, since they usually ended up dead. Then Beth had volunteered to go to the sub, and he had said he’d stay with Harry. That was what he remembered. Nothing about any balloons.

“Sure,” Beth said. “Because the communication said we were supposed to acknowledge transmission, and that means a radio balloon sent to the surface. And we figured, with the storm abating, the surface conditions must be calm enough to allow the balloon to ride without snapping the wire. So it was a question of how to release the balloons. And you said you’d look for the control commands.”

“I really don’t remember,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“Norman, we have to work together in these last few hours,” Beth said.

“I agree, Beth. Absolutely.”

“How are you feeling now?” she said.

“Okay. Pretty good, in fact.”

“Good,” she said. “Hang in there, Norman. It’s only a few more hours.”

She hugged him warmly, but when she released him, he saw in her eyes that same detached, appraising look.

An hour later, they figured out how to release the balloon. They distantly heard a metallic sizzle as the wire unwound from the outside spool, trailing behind the inflated balloon as it shot toward the surface. Then there was a long pause.

“What’s happening?” Norman said.

“We’re a thousand feet down,” Beth said. “It takes a while for the balloon to get to the surface.”

Then the screen changed, and they got a readout of surface conditions. Wind was down to fifteen knots. Waves were running six feet. Barometric pressure was 20.9. Sunlight was recorded.

“Good news,” Beth said. “The surface is okay.”

Norman was staring at the screen, thinking about the fact that sunlight was recorded. He had never longed for sunlight before. It was funny, what you took for granted. Now the thought of seeing sunlight struck him as unbelievably pleasurable. He could imagine no greater joy than to see sun and clouds, and blue sky.

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking I can’t wait to get out of here.”

“Me, too,” Beth said. “But it won’t be long now.”

Pong! pong! pong! pong!

Norman was checking Harry, and he spun at the sound. “What is it, Beth?”

Pong! pong! pong! pong!

“Take it easy,” Beth said, at the console. “I’m just figuring out how to work this thing.”

Pong! pong! pong! pong!

“Work what?”

“The side-scanning sonar. False-aperture sonar. I don’t know why they call it ‘false-aperture.’ Do you know what that refers to, ‘false-aperture’?”

Pong! pong! pong! pong!

“No, I don’t,” Norman said. “Turn it off, please.” The sound was unnerving.

“It’s marked ‘FAS,’ which I think stands for ‘false-aperture sonar,’ but it also says ‘side- scanning.’ It’s very confusing.”

“Beth, turn it off!”

Pong! pong! pong! pong!

“Sure, of course,” Beth said.

“Why do you want to know how to work that, anyway?” Norman said. He felt irritable, as if she’d intentionally annoyed him with that sound.

“Just in case,” Beth said.

“In case what , for Christ’s sake? You said yourself that Harry’s unconscious. There aren’t going to be any more attacks.”

“Take it easy, Norman,” Beth said. “I want to be prepared, that’s all.”

He couldn’t talk her out of it. She insisted on going outside and wiring the explosives around the ship. It was an absolutely fixed idea in her mind.

“But why , Beth?” he kept saying.

“Because I’ll feel better after I do it,” she said.

“But there isn’t any reason to do it.”

“I’ll feel better if I do,” she insisted, and in the end he couldn’t stop her.

He saw her now, a small figure with a single glowing light from her helmet, moving from one crate of explosives to another. She opened each crate and removed large yellow cones which looked rather like the cones that highway repair trucks used. These cones were wired together, and when the wiring was completed a small red light glowed at the tip.

He saw small red lights all up and down the length of the ship. It made him uneasy.

When she left, he had said to her, “But you won’t wire up the explosives near the habitat.”

“No, Norman. I won’t.”

“Promise me.”

“I told you, I won’t. If it’s going to upset you, I won’t.”

“It’s going to upset me.”

“Okay, okay.”

Now the red lights were strung along the length of the ship, starting at the dimly visible tail, which rose out of the coral bottom. Beth moved farther north, toward the rest of the unopened crates.

Norman looked at Harry, who snored loudly but who remained unconscious. He paced back and forth in D Cyl, and then went to the monitors.

The screen blinked.

I AM COMING.

Oh God, he thought. And in the next moment he thought, How can this be happening? It can’t be happening. Harry was still out cold. How could it be happening?

I AM COMING FOR YOU.

“Beth!”

Her voice sounded tinny on the intercom.

“Yes, Norman.”

“Get the hell out of there.”

DO NOT BE AFRAID, the screen said.

“What is it, Norman?” she said.

“I’m getting something on the screen.”

“Check Harry. He must be waking up.”

“He’s not. Get back here, Beth.”

I AM COMING NOW.

“All right, Norman, I’m heading back,” she said.

“Fast, Beth.”

But he didn’t need to say that; already he could see her light bouncing as she ran across the bottom. She was at least a hundred yards from the habitat. He heard her breathing hard on the intercom.