Study results were formulated in dense statistical tables, although, in essence, Norman knew he had merely verified common sense: if you were trapped in an elevator, it was better to be with a few relaxed, athletic people you knew, to keep the lights on, and to know someone was working to get you free.

Yet Norman knew that some of his results were counterintuitive, such as the importance of group composition. Groups composed entirely of men or entirely of women were much poorer at handling stress than mixed groups; groups composed of individuals roughly the same age were much poorer than groups of mixed age. And pre-existing groups formed for another purpose did worst of all; at one point he had stressed a championship basketball team, and it cracked almost immediately.

Although his research was good, Norman remained uneasy about the underlying purposes for his paper-alien invasion-which he personally considered speculative to the point of absurdity. He was embarrassed to submit his paper, particularly after he had rewritten it to make it seem more significant than he knew it was.

He was relieved when the Carter Administration did not like his report. None of Norman’s recommendations were approved. The Administration did not agree with Dr. Norman Johnson that fear was a problem; they thought the predominant human emotion would be wonder and awe. Furthermore, the Administration preferred a large contact team of thirty people, including three theologians, a lawyer, a physician, a representative from the State Department, a representative from the Joint Chiefs, a select group from the legislative branch, an aerospace engineer, an exobiologist, a nuclear physicist, a cultural anthropologist, and a television anchor personality.

In any case, President Carter was not re-elected in 1980, and Norman heard nothing further about his ULF proposal. He had heard nothing for six years.

Until now.

Barnes said, “You remember the ULF team you proposed?”

“Of course,” Norman said.

Norman had recommended a ULF team of four-an astrophysicist, a zoologist, a mathematician, a linguist-and a fifth member, a psychologist, whose job would be to monitor the behavior and attitude of the working team members.

“Give me your opinion of this,” Barnes said. He handed Norman a sheet of paper:

  ANOMALY INVESTIGATION TEAM

USN STAFF/SUPPORT MEMBERS

1. Harold C. Barnes, USN Project Commander Captain

2. Jane Edmunds, USN Data Processing Tech P.O. 1C

3. Tina Chan, USN Electronics Tech P.O. 1C

4. Alice Fletcher, USN Deepsat Habitat Support Chief P.O.

5. Rose C. Levy, USN Deepsat Habitat Support 2C

 CIVILIAN STAFF MEMBERS 

1. Theodore Fielding, astrophysicist/planetary geologist

2. Elizabeth Halpern, zoologist/biochemist

3. Harold J. Adams, mathematician/logician

4. Arthur Levine, marine biologist/biochemist

5. Norman Johnson, psychologist

Norman looked at the list. “Except for Levine, this is the civilian ULF Team I originally proposed. I even interviewed them, and tested them, back then.”

“Correct.”

“But you said yourself: there are probably no survivors. There’s probably no life inside that spacecraft.”

“Yes,” Barnes said. “But what if I’m wrong?”

He glanced at his watch. “I’m going to brief the team members at eleven hundred hours. I want you to come along, and see what you think about the team members,” Barnes said. “After all, we followed your ULF report recommendations.”

You followed my recommendations, Norman thought with a sinking feeling. Jesus Christ, I was just paying for a house.

“I knew you’d jump at the opportunity to see your ideas put into practice,” Barnes said. “That’s why I’ve included you on the team as the psychologist, although a younger man would be more appropriate.”

“I appreciate that,” Norman said.

“I knew you would,” Barnes said, smiling cheerfully. He extended a beefy hand. “Welcome to the ULF Team, Dr. Johnson.”

An ensign showed norman to his room, tiny and gray, more like a prison cell than anything else. Norman’s day bag lay on his bunk. In the corner was a computer console and a keyboard. Next to it was a thick manual with a blue cover.

He sat on the bed, which was hard, unwelcoming. He leaned back against a pipe on the wall.

“Hi, Norman,” a soft voice said. “I’m glad to see they dragged you into this. This is all your fault, isn’t it?” A woman stood in the doorway.

Beth Halpern, the team zoologist, was a study in contrasts. She was a tall, angular woman of thirty-six who could be called pretty despite her sharp features and the almost masculine quality of her body. In the years since Norman had last seen her, she seemed to have emphasized her masculine side even more. Beth was a serious weight-lifter and runner; the veins and muscles bulged at her neck and on her forearms, and her legs, beneath her shorts, were powerful. Her hair was cut short, hardly longer than a man’s.

At the same time, she wore jewelry and makeup, and she moved in a seductive way. Her voice was soft, and her eyes were large and liquid, especially when she talked about the living things that she studied. At those times she became almost maternal. One of her colleagues at the University of Chicago had referred to her as “Mother Nature with muscles.”

Norman got up, and she gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “My room’s next to yours, I heard you arrive. When did you get in?”

“An hour ago. I think I’m still in shock,” Norman said. “Do you believe all this? Do you think it’s real?”

“I think that’s real.” She pointed to the blue manual next to his computer.

Norman picked it up: Regulations Governing Personnel Conduct During Classified Military Operations. He thumbed through pages of dense legal text.

“It basically says,” Beth said, “that you keep your mouth shut or you spend a long time in military prison. And there’s no calls in or out. Yes, Norman, I think it must be real.”

“There’s a spacecraft down there?”

“There’s something down there. It’s pretty exciting.” She began to speak more rapidly. “Why, for biology alone, the possibilities are staggering-everything we know about life comes from studying life on our own planet. But, in a sense, all life on our planet is the same. Every living creature, from algae to human beings, is basically built on the same plan, from the same DNA. Now we may have a chance to contact life that is entirely different, different in every way. It’s exciting, all right.”

Norman nodded. He was thinking of something else. “What did you say about no calls in or out? I promised to call Ellen.”

“Well, I tried to call my daughter and they told me the mainland com links are out. If you can believe that. The Navy’s got more satellites than admirals, but they swear there’s no available line to call out. Barnes said he’d approve a cable. That’s it.”

“How old is Jennifer now?” Norman asked, pleased to pull the name from his memory. And what was her husband’s name? He was a physicist, Norman remembered, something like that. Sandy blond man. Had a beard. Wore bow ties.

“Nine. She’s pitching for the Evanston Little League now. Not much of a student, but a hell of a pitcher.” She sounded proud. “How’s your family? Ellen?”

“She’s fine. The kids are fine. Tim’s a sophomore at Chicago. Amy’s at Andover. How is…”

“George? We divorced three years ago,” Beth said. “George had a year at CERN in Geneva, looking for exotic particles, and I guess he found whatever he was looking for. She’s French. He says she’s a great cook.” She shrugged. “Anyway, my work is going well. For the past year I have been working with cephalopods-squid and octopi.”