"But how is that possible? Why didn't we detect anything?"
"I'm not sure. But I have a theory. We already know those sentinels are broadcasting their message on every conceivable wavelength of electromagnetic radiation-radio waves, microwaves, ultraviolet, infrared. We also know whatever created those sentinels has technology far beyond our own. So who's to say they're not also broadcasting their messages on other channels, other types of radiation we don't even know how to detect yet?"
"Such as?"
"Quark radiation, maybe. Or a new type of particle that can pass through matter, like Higgs bosons. The point is it's some unknown form of radiation, undetectable by our instruments, that interferes with the electrical impulses in our brains."
"Why doesn't it affect everybody?"
"Because biological systems aren't equal. Just as some people have heavier bones, some people have more resistant nervous systems. Or perhaps there are structures in the Facility that inadvertently act as Faraday cages."
"As what?"
"Faraday cages-enclosures built to isolate things from electromagnetic fields. But I think everybody here is affected-just in different degrees. I haven't exactly felt like myself recently…have you?"
Hui thought a moment. "No. No, I haven't."
There was a brief silence.
"So are you going to take this to Admiral Spartan?" Hui asked.
"Not yet."
"Why not? Sounds to me like your work is done."
"Spartan hasn't been very sympathetic to any viewpoint other than his own. I don't want to tell him prematurely, give him an excuse to dismiss it. The more evidence I have, the better. And that means finding the other piece."
"What other piece is that?"
"Before he died, Asher discovered something. There, in the hyperbaric chamber. I know, because he told me so, over the phone. It's all on the laptop, he said. I need to get that laptop, find out what he discovered. Because he was desperate to tell me something, there at the end. He kept repeating one word: whip."
Hui frowned again. "Whip?"
"Yes."
"Whip who? Or what? And why?"
"The secret to that's on his computer-if the hard drive is salvageable."
Another thoughtful silence fell over the stateroom. At last, Crane roused himself and turned toward Hui Ping. "Want to head down to Times Square, get an espresso?"
Hui brightened. "Sure."
They stepped out into the hall. "Perhaps I can help you," she said.
"How?"
"As part of my computer science degree, I spent a summer interning at a data recovery facility."
Crane turned to her. "You mean, you can retrieve data off ruined hard drives?"
"I didn't actually do the recovery myself-I was just an intern, after all. But I watched the process plenty of times, assisted in several."
They stopped at the elevator. "Earlier, you said you'd stumbled over something strange in the lab," Crane said. "What was it?"
"Sorry? Oh, yes. Remember those absorption lines I showed you? The ones the sentinal in my lab was emitting?"
"The ones you said could only come from a distant star?"
"Right."
The elevator doors whispered open, they stepped in, and Crane pressed the button for deck 9. "Well," Hui continued, "just for kicks, I ran that set of absorption lines against a database of known stars. You see, every star has a unique absorption signature. And guess what? I found an exact match."
"Between your little sentinel and a faraway star?"
Hui nodded. "One hundred and forty light-years away, to be exact. Cygnus Major, otherwise known as M81."
"You think that's where the marker came from?"
"Well, that's just it. That star, Cygnus Major, has only one planet. A gas giant, with oceans of sulfuric acid and a methane atmosphere."
Crane felt puzzled. "No mistake?"
Hui shook her head. "Absorption line signatures are as unique as fingerprints. No mistake."
"You think that-on top of everything else-they're trying to tell us where they come from?"
"Looks that way to me."
"Well, that's strange. Because what could a planet of methane and acid possibly see in the oxygen and water of Earth?"
"Exactly." And as the elevator doors opened onto Crew Support, she turned and gave him a speculative look.
37
The floor of the hyperbaric therapy suite was thick with debris: empty extinguisher casings, bandage wrappers, disposable gloves. Commander Terrence W. Korolis stepped around it all with the finicky precision of a cat.
Two commandos in black ops fatigues stood outside the doorway, barring entry to what was being treated as an active crime scene. Another stood guard by the control room. Korolis found their chief, Woburn, in the waiting area next to the hyperbaric chamber itself, speaking to a technician. The entrance hatch to the chamber was open; heavy scorch marks ran along its upper edge and across the nearby ceiling, which was caked with soot.
When Woburn caught sight of Korolis he nodded to the technician and stepped away, following Korolis into the control room. The commander waited until Woburn had shut the door behind them.
"Update, please, Chief," Korolis said.
"Sir." Woburn carried his well-muscled body with stiff precision. "The safety circuits were deliberately bypassed."
"And the internal sprinklers?"
"Deactivated."
"What about the fire? Any theories how it started?"
Woburn jerked a thumb in the direction of the observation window. "The compressor, sir. The technician believes it was tampered with."
"How?"
"It seems the step-down transformer was disengaged while the compressor was running at maximum."
Korolis nodded slowly. "Forcing the RPMs to spike."
"And the compressor to overheat, first, then basically explode into flame. Yes, sir."
"Where could this have been performed?"
"There's a support closet beyond the hyperbaric suite, tucked between two of the science labs. All the work could have been done from there."
"Would it have taken long?"
"The technician said if the person knew what he was doing, it might have taken two, maybe three minutes, tops."
Korolis nodded. The person knew what he was doing, all right. Just as he'd known how to score the inside of the dome with a laser cutter. A good saboteur was trained in how to wreck or blow up almost anything.
Korolis knew all about that kind of training.
He turned back to Woburn. "Any cameras tasked on that support closet?"
"Negative, sir."
"Very well."
Korolis paused to glance out the observation window. The technician had ducked inside the hyperbaric chamber and was now out of visual contact. Aside from the operatives in dark fatigues, there were no witnesses.
He turned to Woburn again. "You have it here?" Although the door was closed, he spoke in a tone even softer than before.
Woburn gave a slight nod.
"Nobody saw you take it?"
"Only our own men, sir."
"Excellent."
Woburn knelt beside the control console, reached underneath it, and extracted a slim case of black ballistic nylon. He handed it to Korolis, along with a key.
"Do you want us to conduct a further investigation, sir?" Woburn asked. "Inquire whether any of the scientists saw anything, or anyone, unusual?"
"There's no need for that, Chief. I'll take over from here and relay my findings to the admiral."
"Very good, sir." And Woburn executed a superbly crisp salute.
Korolis regarded him a moment. Then he returned the salute and left the hyperbaric suite.
Korolis's private quarters were in a special section of deck 11 reserved for military officers. He stepped inside, then closed and carefully locked the door before moving toward his desk. The stateroom was dimly lit. Where others might have set framed pictures or light reading, Korolis had security monitors and classified manuals.
He placed the nylon case Woburn had given him on the desk, then unlocked it with the key. Unzipping the case, he reached inside and pulled out a laptop computer, badly scorched along one side.