2061: Odyssey Three (11 page)

In the wardroom, the sudden surge of full thrust came like a stay of execution. The horrified officers had seen the collapse of the chosen landing site, and knew that there was only one way of escape. Now that Chang had taken it, they once more permitted themselves the luxury of breath.

But how long they could continue to enjoy that experience, no-one could guess. Only Chang knew whether the ship had enough propellant to reach a stable orbit; and even if it did, Captain Laplace thought gloomily, the lunatic with the gun might order him down again. Though he did not for a minute believe that she really was a lunatic; she knew exactly what she was doing.

Suddenly, there was a change in thrust.

‘Number Four motor’s just cut,’ said an engineering officer. ‘I’m not surprised - probably overheated. Not rated for so long at this level.’

There was, of course, no sense of any directional change - the reduced thrust was still along the ship’s axis - but the views on the monitor screens had tilted crazily. Galaxy was still ascending, but no longer vertically. She had become a ballistic missile, aimed at some unknown target on Europa.

Once more, the thrust dropped abruptly; across the video monitors, the horizon became level again.

‘He’s cut the opposite motor - only way to stop us cartwheeling - but can he maintain altitude - good man!’

The watching scientists could not see what was good about it; the view on the monitors had disappeared completely, obscured by a blinding white fog.

‘He’s dumping excess propellant - lightening the ship -’

The thrust dwindled away to zero; the ship was in free fall. In a few seconds, it had dropped through the vast cloud of ice crystals created when its dumped propellant had exploded into space. And there beneath it, approaching at a leisurely one-eighth of a gravity acceleration, was Europa’s central sea. At least Chang would not have to select a landing site; from now on, it would be standard operating procedure, familiar as a video game to millions who had never gone into space, and never would.

All you had to do was to balance the thrust against gravity, so that the descending ship reached zero velocity at zero altitude. There was some margin for error, but not much, even for the water landings which the first American astronauts had preferred, and which Chang was now reluctantly emulating. If he made a mistake - and after the last few hours, he could scarcely be blamed - no home computer would say to him: ‘Sorry - you’ve crashed. Would you like to try again? Answer YES/NO…’

Second Officer Yu and his two companions, waiting with their improvised weapons outside the locked door of the bridge, had perhaps been given the toughest assignment of all. They had no monitor screens to tell them what was happening, and had to rely on messages from the wardroom. Nor had there been anything through the spy mike, which was hardly surprising. Chang and McCullen had very little time or need for conversation.

The touchdown was superb, with hardly a jolt. Galaxy sank a few extra metres, then bobbed up again, to float vertically and - thanks to the weight of the engines - in the upright position.

It was then that the listeners heard the first intelligible sounds through the spy mike.

‘You maniac, Rosie,’ said Chang’s voice, more in resigned exhaustion than anger. ‘I hope you’re satisfied. You’ve killed us all.’

There was one pistol shot, then a long silence.

Yu and his colleagues waited patiently, knowing that something was bound to happen soon. Then they heard the locking levers being unlatched, and gripped the spanners and metal bars they were carrying. She might get one of them, but not all -The door swung open, very slowly.

‘Sorry,’ said Second Officer Chang. ‘I must have passed out for a minute.’

Then, like any reasonable man, he fainted again.

I can never understand how a man could become a doctor, Captain Laplace told himself. Or an undertaker, for that matter. They have some nasty jobs to do…

‘Well, did you find anything?’

‘No, Skipper. Of course, I don’t have the right sort of equipment. There are some implants that you could only locate through a microscope - or so I’m told. They could only be very short range, though.’

‘Perhaps to a relay transmitter somewhere in the ship - Floyd’s suggested we make a search. You took fingerprints and - any other idents?’

‘Yes - when we contact Ganymede, we’ll beam them up, with her papers. But I doubt if we’ll ever know who Rosie was, or who she was acting for. Or why, for God’s sake.’

‘At least she showed some human instincts,’ said Laplace thoughtfully. ‘She must have known she’d failed, when Chang pulled the ABORT lever. She could have shot him then, instead of letting him land.’

‘Much good that will do us, I’m afraid. Let me tell you something that happened when Jenkins and I put the cadaver out through the refuse dump.’

The doctor pursed his lips in a grimace of distaste.

‘You were right, of course - it was the only thing to do. Well, we didn’t bother to attach any weights - it floated for a few minutes - we watched to see if it would clear the ship - and then…’

The doctor seemed to be struggling for words.

‘What, dammit?’

‘Something came up out, of the water, Like a parrot beak, but about a hundred times bigger. It took - Rosie - with one snap, and disappeared. We have some impressive company here; even if we could breathe outside, I certainly wouldn’t recommend swimming -’

‘Bridge to Captain,’ said the officer on duty, ‘Big disturbance in the water - camera three - I’ll give you the picture.’

‘That’s the thing I saw!’ cried the doctor. He felt a sudden chill at the inevitable, ominous thought: I hope it’s not back for more.

Suddenly, a vast bulk broke through the surface of the ocean and arched into the sky. For a moment, the whole monstrous shape was suspended between air and water.

The familiar can be as shocking as the strange - when it is in the wrong place. Both captain and doctor exclaimed simultaneously: ‘It’s a shark!’

There was just time to notice a few subtle differences - in addition to the monstrous parrot-beak - before the giant crashed back into the sea. There was an extra pair of fins - and there appeared to be no gills. Nor were there any eyes, but on either side of the beak there were curious protuberances that might be some other sense organs.

‘Convergent evolution, of course,’ said the doctor. ‘Same problems, same solutions, on any planet. Look at Earth. Sharks, dolphins, ichthyosaurs - all oceanic predators must have the same basic design. That beak puzzles me, though -’

‘What’s it doing now?’

The creature had surfaced again, but now it was moving very slowly, as if exhausted after that one gigantic leap. In fact, it seemed to be in trouble - even in agony; it was beating its tail against the sea, without attempting to move in any definite direction.

Suddenly, it vomited its last meal, turned belly up, and lay wallowing lifelessly in the gentle swell.

‘Oh my God,’ whispered the Captain, his voice full of revulsion. ‘I think I know what’s happened.’

‘Totally alien biochemistries,’ said the doctor; even he seemed shaken by the sight. ‘Rosie’s claimed one victim, after all.’

The Sea of Galilee was, of course, named after the man who had discovered Europa - as he in turn had been named after a much smaller sea on another world.

It was a very young sea, being less than fifty years old; and, like most new-born infants, could be quite boisterous. Although the Europan atmosphere was still too thin to generate real hurricanes, a steady wind blew from the surrounding land towards the tropical zone at the point above which Lucifer was stationary. Here, at the point of perpetual noon, the water was continually boiling - though at a temperature, in this thin atmosphere, barely hot enough to make a good cup of tea.

Luckily, the steamy, turbulent region immediately beneath Lucifer was a thousand kilometres away; Galaxy had descended in a relatively calm area, less than a hundred kilometres from the nearest land. At peak velocity, she could cover that distance in a fraction of a second; but now, as she drifted beneath the low-hanging clouds of Europa’s permanent overcast, land seemed as far-off as the remotest quasar. To make matters worse - if possible - the eternal off-shore wind was taking her further out to sea. And even if she could manage to ground herself on some virgin beach of this new world, she might be no better off than she was now.

But she would be more comfortable; spaceships, though admirably watertight, are seldom seaworthy. Galaxy was floating in a vertical position, bobbing up and down with gentle but disturbing oscillations; half the crew was already sick.

Captain Laplace’s first action, after he had been through the damage reports, was to appeal for anyone with experience in handling boats - of any size or shape. It seemed reasonable to suppose that among thirty astronautical engineers and space scientists there should be a considerable amount of seafaring talent, and he immediately located five amateur sailors and even one professional - Purser Frank Lee who had started his career with the Tsung shipping lines and then switched to space.

Although pursers were more accustomed to handling accounting machines (often, in Frank Lee’s case, a two-hundred-year-old ivory abacus) than navigational instruments, they still had to pass exams in basic seamanship. Lee had never had a chance of testing his maritime skills; now, almost a billion kilometres from the South China Sea, his time had come.

‘We should flood the propellant tanks,’ he told the Captain. ‘Then we’ll ride lower and won’t be bobbing up and down so badly.’

It seemed foolish to let even more water into the ship, and the Captain hesitated.

‘Suppose we run aground?’

No one made the obvious comment ‘What difference will it make?’ Without any serious discussion, it had been assumed that they would be better off on land - if they could ever reach it.

‘We can always blow the tanks again. We’ll have to do that anyway, when we reach shore, to get the ship into a horizontal position. Thank God we have power…’

His voice trailed off; everyone knew what he meant. Without the auxiliary reactor which was now running the life-support systems, they would all be dead within hours. Now - barring a breakdown - the ship could sustain them indefinitely.

Ultimately, of course, they would starve; they had just had dramatic proof that there was no nourishment, but only poison, in the seas of Europa.

At least they had made contact with Ganymede, so that the entire human race now knew their predicament. The best brains in the Solar System would now be trying to save them. If they failed, the passengers and crew of Galaxy would have the consolation of dying in the full glare of publicity.

AT THE WATER HOLE

‘The latest news,’ said Captain Smith to his assembled passengers, ‘is that Galaxy is afloat, and in fairly good condition. One crew member - a woman steward - has been killed - we don’t know the details - but everyone else is safe.

‘The ship’s systems are all working; there are a few leaks, but they’ve been controlled. Captain Laplace says there’s no immediate danger, but the prevailing wind is driving them further away from the mainland, towards the centre of dayside. That’s not a serious problem - there are several large islands they’re virtually certain to reach first. At the moment they’re ninety kilometres from the nearest land. They’ve seen some large marine animals, but they show no sign of hostility.

‘Barring further accidents, they should be able to survive for several months, until they run out of food - which of course is now being strictly rationed. But according to Captain Laplace, morale is still high.

‘Now, this is where we come in. If we return to Earth immediately, get refuelled and refitted, we can reach Europa in a retrograde, powered orbit in eighty-five days. Universe is the only ship currently commissioned that can land there and take off again with a reasonable payload. The Ganymede shuttles may be able to drop supplies, but that’s all - though it may make the difference between life and death.

‘I’m sorry, ladies and gentlemen, that our visit has been cut short - but I think you’ll agree that we’ve shown you everything we promised. And I’m sure you’ll approve of our new mission - even though the chances of success are, frankly, rather slim. That’s all for the moment. Dr Floyd, can I have a word with you?’

As the others drifted slowly and thoughtfully from the main lounge - scene of so many less portentous briefings - the Captain scanned a clipboard full of messages. There were still occasions when words printed on pieces of paper were the most convenient medium of communication, but even here technology had made its mark. The sheets that the Captain was reading were made of the indefinitely reusable multifax material which had done so much to reduce the load on the humble wastepaper basket.

‘Heywood,’ he said - now that the formalities were over - ‘as you can guess, the circuits are burning up. And there’s a lot going on that I don’t understand.’

‘Ditto,’ answered Floyd. ‘Anything from Chris yet?’

“No, but Ganymede’s relayed your message; he should have had it by now. There’s a priority override on private communications, as you can imagine - but of course your name overrode that.’

‘Thanks, Skipper. Anything I can do to help?’

‘Not really - I’ll let you know.’

It was almost the last time, for quite a while, that they would be on speaking terms with each other. Within a few hours Dr Heywood Floyd would become ‘That crazy old fool!’, and the short-lived ‘Mutiny on the Universe’ would have begun - led by the Captain.

It was not actually Heywood Floyd’s idea; he only wished it was.

Second Officer Roy Jolson was ‘Stars’, the navigation officer; Floyd barely knew him by sight, and had never had occasion to say more than good morning to him. He was quite surprised, therefore, by the diffident knock on his cabin door.

The astrogator was carrying a set of charts, and seemed a little ill at ease. He could not be overawed by Floyd’s presence - everyone on board now took him for granted - so there must be some other reason.

‘Dr Floyd,’ he began, in a tone of such urgent anxiety that he reminded his listener of a salesman whose entire future depends on making the next deal. ‘I’d like your advice - and assistance.’

‘Of course - but what can I do?’

Jolson unrolled the chart showing the position of all the planets inside the orbit of Lucifer.

‘Your old trick of coupling Leonov and Discovery, to escape from Jupiter before it blew up, gave me the idea.’

‘It wasn’t mine. Walter Curnow thought of it.’

‘Oh - I never knew that. Of course, we don’t have another ship to boost us here - but we have something much better.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Floyd, completely baffled.

‘Don’t laugh. Why go back to Earth to take on propellant - when Old Faithful is blasting out tons every second, a couple of hundred metres away? If we tapped that, we could get to Europa not in three months - but in three weeks.’

The concept was so obvious, yet so daring, that it took Floyd’s breath away. He could see half a dozen objections instantly; but none of them seemed fatal.

‘What does the Captain think of the idea?’

‘I’ve not told him; that’s why I need your help. I’d like you to check my calculations - then put the idea to him. He’d turn me down - I’m quite certain - and I don’t blame him. If I was captain, I think I would too…’

There was a long silence in the little cabin. Then Heywood Floyd said slowly: ‘Let me give you all the reasons why it can’t be done. Then you can tell me why I’m wrong.’

Second Officer Jolson knew his commander; Captain Smith had never heard such a crazy suggestion in his life.

His objections were all well-founded, and showed little, if any, trace of the notorious ‘not invented here’ syndrome.

‘Oh, it would work in theory,’ he admitted. ‘But think of the practical problems, man! How would you get the stuff into the tanks?’

‘I’ve talked to the engineers. We’d move the ship to the edge of the crater - it’s quite safe to get within fifty metres. There’s plumbing in the unfurnished section we can rip out - then we’d run a line to Old Faithful and wait until he spouts; you know how reliable and well-behaved he is.’

‘But our pumps can’t operate in a near vacuum!’

‘We don’t need them; we can rely on the geyser’s own efflux velocity to give us an input of at least a hundred kilos a second. Old Faithful will do all the work.’

‘He’ll just give ice crystals and steam, not liquid water.’

‘It will condense when it gets on board.’

‘You’ve really thought this out, haven’t you?’ said the Captain with grudging admiration. ‘But I just don’t believe it. Is the water pure enough, for one thing? What about contaminants - especially carbon particles?’

Floyd could not help smiling. Captain Smith was developing an obsession about soot…

‘We can filter out large ones; the rest won’t affect the reaction. Oh yes - the hydrogen isotope ratio here looks better than for Earth. You may even get some extra thrust.’

‘What do your colleagues think of the idea? If we head straight for Lucifer, it may be months before they can get home…

‘I’ve not spoken to them. But does it matter, when so many lives are at stake? We may reach Galaxy seventy days ahead of schedule! Seventy days! Think what could happen on Europa in that time!’

‘I’m perfectly aware of the time factor,’ snapped the Captain. ‘That applies to us as well. We may not have provisions for such an extended trip.’

Now he’s straining at gnats, thought Floyd - and he must know that I know it. Better be tactful…

‘An extra couple of weeks? I can’t believe we have so narrow a margin. You’ve been feeding us too well, anyway. Do some of us good to be on short rations for a while.’

The Captain managed a frosty smile.

‘You can tell that to Willis and Mihailovich. But I’m afraid the whole idea is insane.’

‘At least let us try it on the owners. I’d like to speak to Sir Lawrence.’

‘I can’t stop you, of course,’ said Captain Smith, in a tone that suggested he wished he could. ‘But I know exactly what he’ll say.’

He was quite wrong.

Sir Lawrence Tsung had not placed a bet for thirty years; it was no longer in keeping with his august position in the world of commerce. But as a young man he had often enjoyed a mild flutter at the Hong Kong Race Course, before a puritanical administration had closed it in a fit of public morality. It was typical of life, Sir Lawrence sometimes thought wistfully, that when he could bet he had no money - and now he couldn’t, because the richest man in the world had to set a good example.

And yet, as nobody knew better than he did, his whole business career had been one long gamble. He had done his utmost to control the odds, by gathering the best information and listening to the experts his hunches told him would give the wisest advice. He had usually pulled out in time when they were wrong; but there had always been an element of risk.

Now, as he read the memorandum from Heywood Floyd, he felt again the old thrill he had not known since he had watched the horses thundering round into the last lap. Here was a gamble indeed - perhaps the last and greatest of his career - though he would never dare tell his Board of Directors. Still less the Lady Jasmine.

‘Bill,’ he said, ‘what do you think?’

His son (steady and reliable, but lacking that vital spark which was perhaps no longer needed in this generation) gave him the answer he expected.

‘The theory is quite sound. Universe can do it - on paper. But we’ve lost one ship. We’ll be risking another.’

‘She’s going to Jupiter - Lucifer - anyway.’

‘Yes - but after a complete checkout in Earth orbit. And do you realize what this proposed direct mission will involve? She’ll be smashing all speed records - doing over a thousand kilometres a second at turnaround!’

It was the worst thing he could possibly have said; once again the thunder of hooves sounded in his father’s ears.

But Sir Lawrence merely answered: ‘It won’t do any harm for them to make some tests, though Captain Smith is fighting the idea tooth and nail. Even threatens to resign. Meanwhile, just check the position with Lloyd’s - we may have to back down on the Galaxy claim.’

Especially, he might have added, if we’re going to throw Universe on to the table, as an even bigger chip.

And he was worried about Captain Smith. Now that Laplace was stranded on Europa, he was the best commander he had left.