"What was that you were going to tell me?" he asked.
Hui was absently clutching the towel, her gaze far away. "I'm sorry?"
"Earlier, you said you'd deciphered that transmission. The longer one, the one they first received from beneath the Moho."
She nodded. "Yes. Well, it's a theory, anyway. I can't prove it, but it seems to fit."
She dug into the pocket of her lab coat, pulled out a dripping palmtop computer. "This thing is drenched. I'm not even sure it will work." But when she snapped the power button, the display flickered to life. Taking the stylus, she opened a window of binary numbers:
"Here it is," she said. "The digital stream Dr. Asher saved as 'initial.txt,' the one he never tried to decrypt. While I was waiting for you I tried a variety of cryptographic attacks on it. Nothing worked. It seemed to have nothing in common with all the mathematical expressions he deciphered."
The line for the ladder was slowly growing shorter; there were perhaps ten people ahead of them now. "Go on," Crane said.
"I was about to give up. Then I thought of what you'd said about WIPP, and how they were employing not one but several types of warnings. 'Pictures, symbols, text,' you said. And I got to thinking. Whoever planted this stuff beneath the Moho, maybe they used several types of warnings, too. Maybe they weren't all just forbidden mathematical expressions. So I started experimenting. First I attempted to play the message back as an audio file. That didn't work. Then I wondered if it might be a graphic image, or images. I broke it up in various ways. Those repeated pairings of ones in the first half of the sequence intrigued me. So I divided it into two equal parts. You'll note that the first image is delimited by ones. And there is precisely the same ratio of ones to zeros between the two images. It seemed it was meant to be divided in half."
She tapped the stylus on the screen. The binary sequence reappeared, this time broken in two:
She glanced at Crane. "See anything different about the top image?" Crane peered at the screen. "The ones are clustered together." "Exactly." With her stylus, Hui circled the groupings.
"Now, does that suggest anything to you?" she asked.
He shook his head. "No. Not really."
"Well, it does to me. I think it's an image of the inner solar system." She tapped the large cluster. "There, dead center, is the sun. And circling it are the inner five planets. And I'll bet that if you checked the star charts, you'd find they had been spun back to their positions of six hundred years ago."
"The time of the burial event."
"Precisely."
"What's the second image, then?" Crane asked. "It looks random. Like noise."
"That's it exactly. It is random-and in fact, it's perfectly random. I checked."
Crane frowned at the storm of ones and zeros. Then a sudden, chilling thought struck him. "Do you think it means…Armageddon?"
She nodded. "I think it's another kind of warning. If we disturb what's down there…" Her voice trailed off.
He looked up from the screen and stared at her. "The solar system will be blown to bits."
"Literally and figuratively."
Now Vanderbilt was helping a female scientist directly ahead of them ascend the ladder into the escape pod. As Hui stepped forward and grasped the ladder, Crane stopped her. "That was impressive, you know."
She turned to him. "I'm sorry?"
"You, hiding in that lab, having the presence of mind not only to work on this problem, but to figure it out…"
At that moment, the door to the staging area flew open. A marine in black fatigues stepped in, M-16 assault rifle in his hands. His gaze went from Crane, to Hui, to Vanderbilt, to the scientist halfway through the hatch.
"Step away from the ladder," he barked.
Crane turned to him. "We're evacuating this station, going for help."
"There will be no evacuation. Everyone is to disembark and return to their stations, and the escape pod is to be secured."
"On whose orders?" Vanderbilt said.
"Commander Korolis's."
"Korolis is unwell," Crane said.
"I'm the senior scientist here," Vanderbilt said. "With the lower decks inaccessible, I'm in charge. The evacuation will proceed."
The marine unshipped his weapon and aimed it at them. "I have my orders," he said, his voice perfectly flat and even. "Everyone will leave the escape pod. One way or the other."
Crane's looked from the barrel of the rifle to the soldier's flinty, impassive eyes. There was no doubt in his mind-none at all-that this was not an idle threat.
The woman on the ladder had frozen in place. Now, slowly, sobbing quietly, she began to descend once again.
59
Crane stared at the marine. The man was standing inside the doorway, perhaps fifteen feet away.
He felt his hands ball into fists. Unconsciously, a plan had formed in his mind. He glanced at Vanderbilt. The oceanographer looked back and a silent understanding passed between them. Almost imperceptibly, Vanderbilt nodded.
Crane's eyes returned to the automatic rifle. There was no way he could reach it, he knew, without being gunned down. But if he could keep the marine busy, at least it would give Vanderbilt a chance to move in.
He took a step forward.
The black ops agent turned toward him. The man's eyes widened slightly, as if sensing the agent's design. Quickly, the weapon swung up to Crane's chest.
At that moment a shape came into view in the corridor beyond the staging area. "Secure that weapon," a familiar voice boomed.
The agent turned. Admiral Spartan stood in the doorway, a large gash across his forehead. The upper portion of his uniform was stiff with dried blood. A heavy sidearm lay in his right hand. He looked pale but determined.
"I said secure that weapon, soldier," he said quietly.
For a moment, nobody moved. Then the black ops agent abruptly swung the M- 16 in Spartan's direction. In a fluid motion, the admiral raised his pistol and fired. In the enclosed space, the explosion was deafening. The marine flew backward under the impact, his weapon clattering across the floor. The woman on the ladder screamed.
Spartan remained where he was a moment, his gun trained at the motionless form. Then he stepped forward, picked up the automatic rifle, and turned to Crane. Silently, Vanderbilt helped the woman back up the ladder, then motioned for Hui Ping to follow.
Crane opened his medical bag for a dressing kit, but Spartan waved it away. "Where have you been?" Crane asked.
"Locked in my cabin."
"How'd you get out?"
The admiral brandished the handgun with a mirthless smile.
"You know what's happened?"
"I know enough. Is everybody aboard the escape pod?"
"Everybody from decks nine through twelve. A hundred and twelve in all. Deck eight is completely flooded. Nobody below there can get past."
A look of pain crossed Spartan's face. "It's vital you get these people away from here as quickly as possible."
"No argument here. Let's get aboard."
The admiral shook his head. "I'm staying here."
"You can't. There's no guarantee rescue will arrive in time. Besides, Korolis is down in Marble Three right now. He could reach the Moho at any moment. God only knows what will happen then."
Spartan pointed his handgun at the marine. "More like him are on their way. They'll stop the pod's disengage sequence, prevent you from leaving. I won't allow that."
Crane frowned. "But-"
"That's an order, Dr. Crane. You're to save as many as you can. Now get aboard, please."
Crane hesitated a moment longer. Then he snapped to attention, gave the admiral a salute. Spartan returned it, a wintry smile gathering on his face. Crane turned to follow Vanderbilt up the ladder.
"Doctor?" Spartan called.