The Asteroid
Page 52
In a matter of ten or fifteen seconds the scene had cleared. The alien craft appeared essentially as it had before, though there were signs of agitation in the ocean around it, settling from some activity. The Devil Fish, its sail still furled had been turned, about ninety degrees to its moored orientation. Debbie, still concentrating, added, “It's Sandy! Look, it's Sandy!” She turned toward Françoise, who was leaning forward. Sandra's sister's eyes were full of tears. “She's there. On the ... the boat. I hope ... See, lying there!”
Several of the scopes concentrated their field of view, including the one the two woman watched. Sandra was lying on her back on a pallet of some sort. Her position was immediately beside the seat she'd used during the outward passage, securely held in the recess that served as the passenger compartment and stowage for the small boat. Next to her were the two bags she'd taken inside the craft with her. The astronomer was not moving. The was no way to tell whether she was unconscious or dead.
Françoise muttered, “Mon dieu!” Then she said, louder, “She must be sleeping, you see. But the boat, it has turned.”
The Devil Fish rotated further as the image shimmered. Greenberg reported a change in the cable slackness. It was those cables they were hoping could be used to help return the boat against the wind. The pair of sailors manning the cable reels began the slow retrieval of cable, bringing the tension back to the earlier level. Despite Françoise's comment, there was prevailing fear that Sandra was not simply sleeping.
Suddenly Jon Greenberg called out, nearly deafening Françoise, with the phone to her ear. “Oh no! The cables are breeched!” There was a pause, and his agitated voice continued, “They're open! The signal lines are broken!”
Debbie looked aghast, and Françoise turned pale. Madeleine Vigola and all those around her were deathly quiet for several suspended seconds. The images were once again of poor quality. Vigola's voice was then heard, speaking into her headset, “Mr. President, the fiber cables are sheared.”
In Washington, McBrand and many others were looking at the telescope images, equally stunned. The President, however, was a man of action. Ultimately, the buck would stop with him, and he knew it. He waited only seconds before speaking aloud to an aide. “We have to get that blimp on its way, immediately. And, regardless of the risk, I want three Blackhawks up and moving toward that fifty mile barrier!”
In Kona, Françoise put a hand on Debbie's hand, but said nothing. She continued to watch the screen. The Devil Fish had now turned completely around – as best they could determine – prow pointed toward shore, away from the alien craft.
Greenberg filled in more information. “The OTDRs say ... the break is very close to the Devil Fish.”
“Damn,” muttered President Jefferson McBrand, but his jaw was set. One way or another he'd get that sailboat home.
“Can anyone tell anything about Sandy?” Debbie asked, plaintively.
Françoise answered, “We will know soon, I am certain. We must be patient.” Her words sounded as much for herself as her new friend.
No one had yet realized that the Devil Fish had not only turned around, but was actually moving, and against the wind. It was Françoise who first noticed it. The student's eyes had concentrated on the image continuously, and she saw worsening distortion. Picking up on the implication, she suspected that motion was occurring. “I think she is moving, you see,” was her announcement. “Somehow the boat is moving. There is more distortion in the image!”
Confirmation came within seconds. One of the circling C-5s said as much, word coming in that the Devil Fish was moving at about one knot towards shore, directly against the wind. They were having trouble with the image quality, however.
Carl Von Drath had just entered the trailer control center as this announcement was made and moved across to take a seat offered by Françoise, next to her and Debbie.
“Dr Carl,” the student said with a wan smile, “Sandra seems to be coming back.” The unspoken understanding between the two was that the aliens were somehow responsible.
The President held the Blackhawk helicopters at the 50-mile line, flying below the circling C-5s, but the metal-free blimp moved forward, across the mysterious transition that marked the alien sphere of influence.
Soon the Devil Fish was moving at five knots, and on a beeline for shore. There was no apparent propulsion mechanism, but no one any longer expressed surprise at such a curious event. The telescopes, unfortunately, were struggling with their images. As the boat sped up the image quality degraded. Watching the blurry image was not especially rewarding, but everyone seemed glued to it, at least for the first quarter hour. The most agonizing aspect of the distortion was their inability to ascertain anything about the condition of the astronomer aboard the Devil Fish.
At a speed of five knots, the critical fifty miles would require nearly ten hours. No one wanted to wait that long. And much of the trip would be in the dark of night. The blimp, moving at much greater speed, however, would be able to hover over the boat within an hour. The hope was that something could be seen or done at that time. That hope was destined to be dashed. As the blimp, with its crew of two, moved passed the twenty-five-mile radius of the alien craft, the disruptions in the air that had gradually increased became severe. The data link was a line-of-sight laser from one of the C-5s, received by retro-reflecting optics on the blimp, modulated by fiber optic microphones similar to the one Sandra had used going out to the alien craft. The arrangement was ingenious, using a system developed for clandestine operations of the CIA, and only accidentally available on such short notice. The laser link was, ingenious or not, still only one-way, allowing communications from the blimp to aircraft, then shore, but not vice versa. The pilots reported the growing disturbance, lost their laser link for a few minutes, and picked it up briefly, saying they were turning back to “more stable” air. The best they were able to do was reach within twenty-two miles of the alien craft, and had not sighted the Devil Fish. The blimp held itself steady, in a very bumpy sense, around twenty-six miles from the alien craft.
A deep helplessness settled around everyone attempting to monitor the motion of the sailboat. It was clear that little could be done but observe the Devil Fish as well as the telescopes would allow, and wait. Debbie felt a tightness in her chest, a kind of powerful tension that drove her heart into a racing mode. She stood and walked around a little while, forcing her eyes away from the blurry screen. Françoise remained at her post, talking quietly to Jon Greenberg. Nothing changed for more than ten minutes, then one of the C-5s reported to the Chief of Staff. Vigola gave the information out loud for those in the room. “The sailboat is now moving at nearly ten knots. At the present rate the blimp crew will be able to sight it in about two hours.” That would allow contact before dark, a source of relief.
The image from any of the telescopes – including a routed signal from the space telescope – was heavily distorted, but it was possible to identify the moving shape of the Devil Fish. Still, however, nothing about its passenger could be determined. In Washington, President McBrand, flanked by his staff, three UN representatives, and several cabinet officers, felt a frustration that was easy to read on his face. With all the resources at his disposal – aircraft and ships of every kind, each loaded with the latest in technology and crewed by top-notch civilian and military personnel – he remained essentially helpless to do anything but watch. Sandra Hughes was on her way back, either alive or dead, but still out of reach, and would be so for some hours.
The original plan to get the Devil Fish back had been to use the fiber cables to reel it in. Sandra's sailing skills were not adequate to expect her to tack back against the prevailing winds. The risk of communication loss had been considered less important than the retrieval process. Fiber optic material – fused silica – was stronger than steel unless the jacketed covering were scraped off, which could cause a fracture of the brittle material due to an effect called “crazing,” in which a hairline scratch could lead to
a clean break. Part of the cabling arrangement had also included strengthening fibers of Kevlar around each fiber optic. But with the silica cables now broken, reeling the sailboat back was impossible. The blimp, however, had been equipped with a line to drop down to assist Sandra if necessary. But for that contingency, the astronomer had to be able to handle the line
The next two hours dragged by with frustrating slowness. Back in the Keck control room Jason Nagato busied himself following and routing data from reports from various observatories watching the asteroid and fragments. He, and a few of the Vigola staff assigned to the Keck facility, along with director, Reginald Wyler, had access to most of the information from the Kona command center. Wyler came into the control room a few minutes after the returning Devil Fish had been sighted and sat at the console with Sandra's assistant, speaking with Jason in the manner of one team member to another. In later days the young man would be pleased to remember this vote of confidence from the main boss; at the moment, however, neither he nor Wyler were taking such things into consideration. Their minds – like hundreds in Kona and Washington – were on a certain sailboat not that many miles to their west.
The sun was moving toward the Pacific horizon, producing a slanted illumination. The circling C-5s expected to be best positioned were those to the west, the sun behind the view direction. Their telescope images may have had somewhat better light patterns but, so far, were as blurred as any. The Devil Fish had sped up to 13 knots, a brisk pace for a small boat on a very large ocean. Every tick of the clock seemed slower than the previous, but finally, the time reached five o'clock. And finally, the blimp saw the boat. The crew's signal came in, routed from the C-5 tracking them, at 5:02.
“We can see the Devil Fish,” was the simple statement. “But very poorly. Distorted. It will pass under us in a few minutes.”
Madeleine Vigola lamented the fact that she couldn't send information out to the blimp. She fervently hoped they didn't do anything foolish. These were experienced crewmen, however, expert at rescue operations, and calmed her concerns with their next transmission. “We're planning to follow the sailboat, hoping for better air.”
As the daylight faded, the Devil Fish moved briskly across the twenty-eight mile radius, now shadowed by a blimp bouncing heavily above. Françoise mentioned to Vigola the problem of the distortion, suggesting it would be worse near the Devil Fish. The blimp crew apparently began to get the same understanding – directly – and raced ahead of the sailboat, establishing a position with the Devil Fish just in sight behind them. The strange entourage now consisted of a blimp “following” a sailboat that trailed it. Darkness fell gradually but steadily. McBrand decided to spiral one of the Blackhawks in closer, in case the helicopter might be able to be of use. The C-5s reported that the Devil Fish was on a direct path to the coast guard cutter. When that announcement was made aloud by Vigola, Françoise and Carl again exchanged glances. Both began to feel a guarded sense of relief.
It was dark when Jon Greenberg saw the Devil Fish, but the sailboat was fully illuminated by the bright spotlight of a Blackhawk helicopter chugging above it. Not far away, slightly to the south was the hovering blimp. Crewmen next to Greenberg on deck were busy with both video and still cameras, capturing a moment that, within a few minutes, would be seen all over the planet.
Far above, the C-5s and their telescopes were finally seeing clear images again. The scene had returned to normal within a few seconds, and as it did so the Devil Fish stopped. Whatever motive force had taken it across nearly fifty miles of ocean turned itself off, and in effect, vanished. It was immediately clear that Dr. Sandra Hughes was still aboard and seemed to be still unconscious. The Blackhawk swept lower, its rotor stirring a spray of water around the boat. The scene was brightly lit and recorded by two video cameras in the chopper. One of the spotlights swept the sail boat surface a moment, then locked onto the astronomer. Those who watched, in Washington, Kona, and the Keck control room, gasped simultaneously. Sandra Hughes had stirred, then sat up, putting a hand to her hair and tilting her face toward the light!
It took only five minutes for the Blackhawk to lower a crew member down with a line. The lowered Navy Seal, Mac Baldwin, was soon to be a kind of folk hero, his name heard everywhere. Baldwin knelt beside Sandra Hughes, in glaring light, balancing himself gracefully against the tug of line and movement of sailboat. A number of video cameras were observing him.
Baldwin had a radio set on his full-length jumpsuit, and, showing a certain sense of the dramatic, reached a hand out to greet Dr. Sandra Hughes. “Welcome back, Doctor,” he said, words audible against the roar of rotor and blowing water. She turned, still looking a little dazed, took his hand briefly, and nodded.
“Thanks,” Sandra said, simply. It had taken some effort to say that, and her word barely carried through the noise.
On his headset Baldwin could hear several cheers from the Blackhawk. What he couldn't hear were hundreds of cheers in Kona, Washington, and in the Keck control room. Even Madeleine Vigola cheered. President McBrand suddenly grabbed his wife, next to him, and presented her with a hug that got nearly as much later news coverage as the scene of the Navy Seal next to Sandra Hughes' supine form.
Françoise Marnier leapt to her feet, quickly wrapping her arms around Carl Von Drath, smothering the old astrophysicist in the warmest Gallic hug of his whole life. The student's eyes were shamelessly flowing. Debbie's own hug engulfed the other two an instant later. None of the three could speak for a few seconds. Carl was the first to articulate words.
“When she smells fresh brewed coffee, Sandra will be her old self.”
The two women with him smiled through their tears.
Chapter 48
Dr. Sandra Hughes was taken up into the Blackhawk held firmly by cable and the arms of Mac Baldwin. The scene of her and the Navy Seal suspended and rising up from the sailboat to the hovering chopper was already being released to news media everywhere. Sandra's two bags were also retrieved, and the Devil Fish – managed by two swimmers lowered from the chopper – was attached to the nearby Coast Guard cutter. In the few minutes required to get the astronomer to shore, she was attended by a Navy medic and an Air Force nurse. The nurse was equipped with a thermos of coffee, packaged pre-moistened wash cloths, a hair dryer, and a complete change of clothing for the astronomer. After Sandra was cleared by the medic, the nurse was able to convince her to put on the provided deck shoes, have her face washed, and ponytail combed out and retied. She didn't have to be talked into the coffee. As the Blackhawk descending to landing platform in Kona, Sandra was enjoying the last swallows of the fresh brew and looked amazingly fresh herself. Only she knew how tired she was.
Madeleine Vigola was the first greeter. Sandra cleared the rotor circle, trailed by Baldwin and the other crew members, and put a hand out for the Chief of Staff. Vigola, unexpectedly, took Sandra's hand then pulled her forward in a genuine embrace before releasing her.
“Dr. Hughes, we are so pleased to see you!”
“Thanks, Madeleine. It was nice to get the help out there.” She glanced back, referring to the Blackhawk crew.
While Vigola greeted the crew, Sandra moved directly to her sister, standing back only a few steps. Debbie hugged her and, while doing so, whispered into her ear, “Sandy, I thought maybe you'd grow antennas out there with the aliens, or your skin might turn green.”
“Takes a little time to show, Deb,” Sandra said.
Carl and Françoise were next in line. Sandra went straight to the old man and hugged him warmly, enjoying his crooked Teutonic smile, then received the embrace of her student.
Françoise's eyes were slightly moist, but she had a big smile. “Sandra, we are so ... well, we were worried, you see.” Then she hugged her friend again.
It took a few more minutes for Sandra to wade through the mass of greeters and make her way to the command center trailer. Her progress in that direction was deliberate, however, and it took a certain amount of self control to co
ntinue acknowledging the various greetings. She was, first of all, tired, but mostly she wanted to find out more about what was happening. She sensed it had been a long while since last she was awake and alert.
As soon as Sandra cleared the trailer door, she said, “Can you connect me to Jason right away?” She said it to the air, hoping someone who could do so was in earshot.
“He's standing by, Dr. Hughes,” said a clerk across the room. “Welcome back!”
“Thanks,” Sandra said, providing a pleasant look as she took the phone.
“Hello, Sandra,” Jason Nagato said brightly. “How are you?”
“Tired but intact, Jason. Listen, what's happening with the fragments, the asteroid, and the landed alien craft?”
Jason's voice was calm. He couldn't quite understand Sandra's urgency. “Nothing has changed, Sandra. We have Fragment Five in sight now.”
“Any change in red or orange glows around any of the objects?”
“No. At least not that I can see with my eyes.”
“Do you have an image of the landed craft?”
“I do, but it's not displayed now. Nothing was happening to it.”
As Sandra spoke, the clerk rotated a display toward the astronomer, showing the floating craft, now – since it was dark outside – recorded mostly in infrared light.
Sandra nodded a thanks to the young woman and said to Jason, “I've got it here. Look, thanks. We'll drink some wine soon, okay. Talk to you later.” Then she handed the phone back across.
Madeleine Vigola entered the trailer at that point and came over toward Sandra. “Dr. Hughes,” she said, “the President is waiting on the line to speak with you.”