Sphere

by Michael Crichton

  "My mission is to keep all the digital recordings, visual materials, and videotapes, sir. Every aspect of this historic moment is being recorded, and I keep everything neatly filed. " Norman thought: She is a librarian.

  "Oh, excellent," Ted said. "I'm glad to hear it. Film or tape?"

  "Tape, sir. "

  "I know my way around a video camera," Ted said, with a smile. "What're you putting it down on, half-inch or threequarter?"

  "Sir, we use a datascan image equivalent of two thousand pixels per side - biased frame, each pixel carrying a twelvetone gray scale. "

  "Oh," Ted said.

  "It's a bit better than commercial systems you may be familiar with, sir. "

  "I see," Ted said. But he recovered smoothly, and chatted with Edmunds for a while about technical matters.

  "Ted seems awfully interested in how we're going to record this," Barnes said, looking uneasy.

  "Yes, he seems to be. " Norman wondered why that troubled Barnes. Was Barnes worried about the visual record? Or did he think Ted would try to hog the show? Would Ted try to hog the show? Did Barnes have any worries about having this appear to be a civilian operation?

  "No, the exterior lights are a hundred-fifty-watt quartz halogen," Edmunds was saying. "We're recording at equivalent of half a million ASA, so that's ample. The real problem is backscatter. We're constantly fighting it. "

  Norman said, "I notice your support team is all women. "

  "Yes," Barnes said. "All the deep-diving studies show that women are superior for submerged operations. They're physically smaller and consume less nutrients and air, they have better social skills and tolerate close quarters better, and they are physiologically tougher and have better endurance.

  The fact is, the Navy long ago recognized that all their submariners should be female. " He laughed. "But just try to implement that one. " He glanced at his watch. "We'd better move on. Ted?"

  They went on. The final cylinder, E Cyl, was more spacious than the others. There were magazines, a television, and a large lounge; and on the deck below was an efficient mess and a kitchen. Seaman Rose Levy, the cook, was a redfaced woman with a Southern accent, standing beneath giant suction fans. She asked Norman whether he had any favorite desserts.

  "Desserts?"

  "Yes sir, Dr. Johnson. I like to make everybody's favorite dessert, if I can. What about you, you have a favorite, Dr. Fielding?"

  "Key lime pie," Ted said. "I love key lime pie. "

  "Can do, sir," Levy said, with a big smile. She turned back to Norman. "I haven't heard yours yet, Dr. Johnson. "

  "Strawberry shortcake. "

  "Easy. Got some nice New Zealand strawberries coming down on the last sub shuttle. Maybe you'd like that shortcake tonight?"

  "Why not, Rose," Barnes said heartily.

  Norman looked out the black porthole window. From the portholes of D Cyl, he could see the rectangular illuminated grid that extended across the bottom, following the half-mile-long buried spacecraft. Divers, illuminated like fireflies, moved over the glowing grid surface.

  Norman thought: I am a thousand feet beneath the surface of the ocean, and we are talking about whether we should have strawberry shortcake for dessert. But the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. The best way to make somebody comfortable in a new environment was to give him familiar food.

  "Strawberries make me break out," Ted said.

  "I'll make your shortcake with blueberries," Levy said, not missing a beat.

  "And whipped cream?" Ted said.

  "Well . . . "

  "You can't have everything," Barnes said. "And one of the things you can't have at thirty atmospheres of mixed gas is whipped cream. Won't whip. Let's move on. "

  Beth and Harry were waiting in the small, padded conference room, directly above the mess. They both wore jumpsuits and heated jackets. Harry was shaking his head as they arrived. "Like our padded cell?" He poked the insulated walls. "It's like living in a vagina. "

  Beth said, "Don't you like going back to the womb, Harry?"

  "No," Harry said. "I've been there. Once was enough. "

  "These jumpsuits are pretty bad," Ted said, plucking at the clinging polyester.

  "Shows your belly nicely," Harry said.

  "Let's settle down," Barnes said.

  "A few sequins, you could be Elvis Presley," Harry said.

  "Elvis Presley's dead. "

  "Now's your chance," Harry said.

  Norman looked around. "Where's Levine?"