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Sphere Page 79
Author: Michael Crichton

"I'm sure you like that story better," Beth said. "It fits with your typical black-male contempt for women."

"Easy," Norman said.

"You resent the power of the female," Beth said.

"What power? You call lifting weights power? That's only strength - and it comes out of a feeling of weakness, not power."

"You skinny little weasel," Beth said.

"What're you going to do, beat me up?" Harry said. "Is that your idea of power?"

"I know what power is," Beth said, glaring at him.

"Easy, easy," Norman said. "Let's not get into this."

Harry said, "What do you think, Norman? Do you have a story about the room, too?"

"No," Norman said. "I don't."

"Oh, come on," Harry said. "I bet you do."

"No," Norman said. "And I'm not going to mediate between you two. We've all got to stay together on this. We have to work as a team, as long as we're down here."

"It's Harry who's divisive," Beth said. "From the beginning of this trip, he's tried to make trouble with everybody. All those snide little comments ..."

"What snide little comments?" Harry said.

"You know perfectly well what snide little comments," Beth said.

Norman walked out of the room. "Where're you going?"

"Your audience is leaving."

"Why?"

"Because you're both boring."

"Oh," Beth said, "Mr. Cool Psychologist decides we are boring?"

"That's right," Norman said, walking through the glass tunnel, not looking back.

"Where do you get off, making all these judgments of other people?" Beth shouted at him.

He kept walking.

"I'm speaking to you! Don't you walk away while I'm speaking to you, Norman!"

He came into the galley once more and started opening the drawers, looking for the nut bars. He was hungry again, and the search took his mind off the other two. He had to admit he was disturbed by the way things were going. He found a bar, tore the foil, ate it.

Disturbed, but not surprised. In studies of group dynamics he had long ago verified the truth of the old statement "Three's a crowd." For a high-tension situation, groups of three were inherently unstable. Unless everybody had clearly defined responsibilities, the group tended to form shifting allegiances, two against one. That was what was happening now.

He finished the nut bar, and immediately ate another one. How much longer did they have down here? At least thirty-six hours more. He looked for a place to carry additional nut bars, but his polyester jumpsuit had no pockets.

Beth and Harry came into the galley, much chagrined.

"Want a nut bar?" he said, chewing.

"We want to apologize," she said.

"For what?"

"For acting like children," Harry said.

"I'm embarrassed," Beth said. "I feel terrible about losing my temper that way, I feel like a complete idiot. ... Beth was hanging her head, staring at the floor. Interesting how she flipped, he thought, from aggressive self-confidence to the complete opposite, abject self-apology. Nothing in between.

"Let's not take it too far," he said. "We're all tired."

"I feel just awful," Beth continued. "Really awful. I feel as if I've let you both down. I shouldn't be here in the first place. I'm not worthy to be in this group."

Norman said, "Beth, have a nut bar and stop feeling sorry for yourself."

"Yes," Harry said. "I think I like you better angry."

"I'm sick of those nut bars," Beth said. "Before you came here, I ate eleven of them."

"Well, make it an even dozen," Norman said, "and we'll go back to the habitat."

Walking back across the ocean floor, they were tense, watching for the squid. But Norman derived comfort from the fact that they were armed. And something else: some inner confidence that came from his earlier confrontation with the squid.

"You hold that spear gun like you mean it," Beth said. "Yes. I guess so." All his life he had been an academic, a university researcher, and had never conceived of himself as a man of action. At least, nothing beyond the occasional game of golf. Now, holding the spear gun ready, he found he rather liked the feeling.

As he walked he noticed the profusion of sea fans on the path between the spacecraft and the habitat. They were obliged to walk around the fans, which were sometimes four and five feet tall, gaudy purple and blue in their lights. Norman was quite sure that the fans had not been down here when they first arrived at the habitat.

Now there were not only colorful fans, but schools of large fish, too. Most of the fish were black with a reddish stripe across the back. Beth said they were Pacific surgeonfish, normal for the region.

Everything is changing, he thought. It's all changing around us. But he wasn't sure about that. He didn't really trust his memory down here. There were too many other things to alter his perceptions - the high-pressure atmosphere, the injuries he had received, and the nagging tension and fear he lived with.

Something pale caught his eye. Shining his light down on the bottom, he saw a wriggling white streak with a long thin fin and black stripes. At first he thought it was an eel. Then he saw the tiny head, the mouth.

"Just wait," Beth said, putting her arm on him. "What is it?"

"Sea snake."

"Are they dangerous?"

"Not usually."

"Poisonous?" Harry said.

"Very Poisonous."

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Michael Crichton's Novels
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