Deep Storm

11

When Howard Asher reached the executive conference room on deck 8, Admiral Spartan was already there, seated at the table, hands resting on the polished rosewood. He waited silently while Asher closed the door and took a seat across the table.

"I've just come from Medical," Asher said.

Spartan nodded.

"Waite sustained a deep puncture wound to the neck, and he's lost a lot of blood, but he's stable. He'll pull through."

"You didn't summon me to an emergency meeting just to tell me that," Spartan replied.

"No. But Waite is one of the reasons I asked you here."

Spartan did not reply; he merely gazed at Asher with his dark unfathomable eyes. In the brief silence that followed, Asher felt the old apprehension-which he'd managed to contain so long-creeping back again.

Science and the military made for strange bedfellows. Deep Storm, Asher knew, was at best a marriage of convenience. He and his team of scientists needed this station, and the bottomless resources of the government, in order to undertake such a mind-boggling excavation in the first place. Spartan needed the scientists and engineers to plan the dig and analyze the finds. But the recent, unexpected developments were putting a strain on an already fragile relationship.

The door opened quietly, then closed again. Asher looked back to see Commander Korolis. The man nodded, then wordlessly took a seat at the table.

Asher's apprehension increased. To him, Korolis symbolized everything was wrong about this project: secrecy, disinformation, propaganda. Asher knew that Waite was asleep in Medical, heavily sedated; otherwise, Korolis would be at the patient's side, ensuring that no word of what went on below deck 7 reached non-classified ears.

"Proceed, Dr. Asher," Spartan said.

Asher cleared his throat. "Waite is just the latest and most acute in a series of medical and psychological traumas. Over the last two weeks, this Facility has seen an alarming spike in illness, across the board."

"Which is why you've brought in Crane."

"I asked for several specialists," Asher said. "A diagnostician, a-"

"One is sufficient enough risk," Spartan replied, his voice low and even.

Asher took a deep breath. "Look. Once Waite is stable, we have to get him to the surface."

"Out of the question."

Now annoyance began mixing with Asher's apprehension. "Why is that, exactly?"

"You know the reasons as well as I do. This is a secret installation, undertaking a classified mission-"

"Classified!" Asher cried. "Confidential! Don't you understand? We have a serious medical issue here. You can't just ignore it, sweep it under the rug!"

"Dr. Asher, please." For the first time, Admiral Spartan allowed his tone to stiffen slightly. "You're overreacting. We have a fully equipped medical facility here, staffed by skilled personnel. Against my better judgment, I've bowed to your request to bring in an additional resource-over the objection, I might add, of Commander Korolis here."

This was bait, and Asher did not rise to it.

"Besides," Spartan went on, "I don't see the need for panic. Have you, or the good Dr. Crane, identified a cluster?"

"You know we haven't."

"Then let's be reasonable here. Many of your scientists aren't used to working in conditions like these. Confined to the Facility, cramped quarters, stressful working environment-" Spartan waved a meaty hand. "Irritability, sleeplessness, loss of appetite-these things are to be expected."

"It's not just scientists who are being affected," Asher replied. "So are members of the military. And what about the ministrokes? The arrhythmias? What about Waite?"

"You're talking about a very small section of the population," Korolis said. It was the first time he'd spoken. "You get enough people together, something's bound to pop up."

"The facts are these," Spartan went on. "There is no commonality. People are complaining about all sorts of things-that's what people do. Aside from Waite, there's no severity. I'm sorry, Dr. Asher, but that's the truth. Bottom line: there's no outbreak. Period."

"But-" Asher began. He fell silent when he saw the expression on Spartan's face. Scientists have no place in a military operation, that expression seemed to say. And all this whining proves it.

He decided to change the subject. "There's something else."

Spartan's eyebrows rose.

"Earlier today, Paul Easton, the marine geologist, came to see me. Turns out we're wrong about the dating."

"What dating is that?" Spartan asked.

"Of the burial event."

There was a brief silence.

Spartan shifted in his chair. "How wrong?"

"Very."

Korolis exhaled slowly between his teeth. To Asher, it sounded like the hiss of a snake.

"Specify," the admiral said at last.

"We've always assumed-based on rough visual inspection and other factors-that the entombment happened ten thousand years ago or even longer. Easton took that assumption a little too far. He never bothered to date the site using magnetic field reversal."

"Using what?" Korolis said.

"A method for dating the vulcanism around the burial site. Not to get into the scientific details"-and here Asher glanced at Korolis-"but once in a great many years, the earth's magnetic field reverses. Flips. The north pole becomes the south, and vice versa. Our original dating of the burial event would have placed it in the last magnetic reversal. But it seems we were wrong."

"How do you know that?" Spartan asked.

"Because when the earth's crust becomes molten, its iron particles swivel around, align themselves with the planet's magnetic field. Then, as the rock cools, they stay aligned. It's like tree rings in a way: you can date geologic events by examining that alignment."

"Well, maybe it's far older, then," Korolis said. "Two magnetic reversals ago. The north pole would have still been north then, correct?"

"Correct. But the event was not far older."

"So it wasn't as old as you thought," Spartan said.

Asher nodded.

"I presume that, since we're here, you were able to get a more accurate date."

"I had Easton send out a rover, equipped with a highly sophisticated magnetometer. It can measure, very accurately, the drift of a magnetic field. We used samples from the burial site as a starting point."

Spartan frowned, shifted again. "And?"

"The site isn't ten thousand years old, or fifty thousand. It's six hundred years old."

There was a moment of frigid silence.

Spartan was the first to speak. "Does this-oversight have any bearing on our chances of success?"

"No."

Asher thought he detected a fleeting look of relief cross the admiral's face before the expressionless mask descended again.

"Then what, exactly, is the bottom line?"

"Isn't it obvious? This has gone from an event in the unthinkable past to an event within recorded history."

"And your point, Doctor?" Korolis said.

"My point? My point is that there may have been eyewitnesses to the burial event. There may be written accounts."

"Then we should dispatch a researcher to look into it," Spartan said.

"I've already done that."

Spartan frowned. "With the proper credentials? And discretion?"

"His credentials are excellent-medieval historian from Yale. And, yes, he has no clue as to the real reason I'm interested."

"Good." Spartan rose. "Then if there's nothing else, I'd suggest you return to Medical and see if Dr. Crane has made a miracle diagnosis."

Asher stood, as well. "He'll need to be brought inside," he said in a low voice.

Spartan's eyebrows shot up. "Excuse me?"

"He should be fully briefed. He'll need access to the classified levels. Unrestricted access. And not with a phalanx of MPs, either."

"That's impossible, Dr. Asher," said Korolis. "We could never allow such a security risk."

Asher kept his gaze on the admiral. "Crane needs to talk to the patients, learn their movements, search for vectors, identify possible exposures. How can he do that if we keep him both gagged and blindfolded?"

"I have the greatest faith in your choice of specialists, Dr. Asher," Spartan said mildly. "You should, too."

For a moment Asher just stood there, breathing heavily, mastering himself. "We were given a mandate, Admiral," he finally said, voice husky. "A joint mandate to run this Facility. Together. So far, I haven't pushed the point. But if it comes down to a question of secrecy or the safety of this installation, I'll put aside secrecy in a heartbeat. And you'd be wise to remember that."

Then he spun on his heel, pulled open the door, and was gone.