The Omega Project (9 page)

“Robert Eisenbraun. Would one of the other visitors happen to be a woman? Dark hair. Athletic. About my age.”

“Last time I saw her, she was working in the aquarium. Follow the main corridor to Phase III.”

“Thanks. So, this asteroid … how close will it pass to Earth?”

“Close is a matter of perspective. She’ll miss us by a scant three hundred thousand miles, give or take. Roughly the distance to the moon. It’s not a threat, but it’s a bigger hunk of rock than we expected, so we’re keeping an eye on it, just to be sure.”

“Have fun.”

I left the chamber and realized I was still lost. Remembering ABE, I had my bio-chip access the schematics to the Crary Center. Within seconds the internal GPS was directing me out of the Phase II maze and back to the main corridor.

Mental masturbation, my ass …

Descending another long ramp, I pushed past a set of air-locked double doors and entered the smallest of the three buildings.

The aquarium was more research facility than exhibit, a two-thousand-square-foot structure containing a touch tank, five large oval holding tanks, walk-in refrigerators and freezers, workstations and several labs.

My heart fluttered. She was standing before a three-thousand-gallon saltwater aquarium with her back to me. The hourglass figure was concealed beneath a gold and navy blue University of Delaware sweatshirt and matching sweatpants. She had rinsed the blue streak from her jet-black hair, which seemed longer than when we had last held one another four weeks earlier.

“Hey, beautiful.”

She turned into my kiss, my tongue probing the inside of her mouth—her smell and my lips alerting me too late that I had just frenched the wrong woman.

She removed any doubt by slapping me hard across the face.

I backed away, my heart racing. “Oh God, I’m sorry. I thought you were someone else.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet.” She was pretty in her own right, a blue-collar version of Andria, a hometown apple pie girl compared to my sultry huntress. “I’m calling Security.”

“Easy now. I’m with the training exercise. One of the backups. Robert Eisenbraun.”

The anger dissipated into a smile. “You’re Ike. You thought I was Andria.”

Relief flooded into my flushed cheeks. “You know her?”

“We’ve only spent the last eight months working together.” She extended her hand. “Lara Saints, marine biologist. Sorry about the slap.”

“Sorry about the kiss.”

“The kiss was fine … maybe a little less tongue next time. I’m guessing Andie doesn’t know you’re coming.”

“It’s sort of a surprise. Do you know where she is?”

“She’s with the others, out at the drop zone. I stayed back to prepare my lovelies for tomorrow’s dive.” She pointed to the aquarium.

The tank appeared empty, save for a speckled brown cluster of coral. “Is there something in there?”

“Watch.” Lara reached into a plastic bucket with a pair of tongs, fishing out a live crab. Unbolting the plastic top of the tank, she dropped the squirming crustacean into the water.

As if by magic, the sides of the cluster of coral bloomed into a pair of octopi, each creature losing its brown skin pattern to become translucent pink.

“Wow, that’s some camouflage.”

“This is Oscar and Sophia. They’re both members of the species
Megaleledone setebos
—that’s Latin for—”

“‘The ones that never left home,’” I said, attempting to impress her. “So, where is home?”

“Right here, in the South Pole. All modern deep-sea octopuses trace their origins to a single species of Antarctic cephalopod that inhabited these very waters about thirty-three million years ago.”

“How did one species evolve into so many different species so quickly?”

“Adaptation. When Antarctica froze over, most of the cephalopods spread into other ocean realms, their physiology evolving to adapt to their new environments. Each change led to new species of octopus. For instance, Oscar and Sophia were born in the dark waters of the deep, their physiological adaptation was to phase out their ink sacs.”

“Is the light bothering them? They look like they’re squinting.”

Lara laughed. “Those aren’t eyes, they’re just skin folds. Their eyes are actually off to the sides.”

“They have your smile.”

“That’s not a mouth, it’s just a common color pattern.”

“Why is there a padlock on the top of their tank? Are you afraid someone might steal them?”

“Hardly. These guys are escape artists; they can squeeze their bodies through a hole the size of your fist. Cephalopods are also extremely smart. Watch this.”

Using the tongs, she removed another live crab from the bucket, placing it in a jar of salt water. The two octopi appeared excited; they were clearly watching Lara as she screwed on the jar lid tightly. When she reached for another jar and crab, I began to feel guilty.

Lara released both sealed containers of live bait into the tank and the two cephalopods immediately divided the bounty, each octopus wasting no time in attempting to remove the lid of its respective jar. Within seconds, the translucent pink creatures had splayed themselves atop their lids, engaging the powerful suckers of their eight tentacles, twisting off the sealed jar top.

“Pretty clever,” I said, duly impressed. “Is there an IQ test you can administer to an octopus?”

“Probably. But it would be based on our limited definition of intelligence, not theirs. Having worked with cephalopods over the last four years, I can tell you they possess distinct personalities and recognize and respond differently to individual humans. I’ve witnessed cephalopods in the wild construct sanctuaries out of coconut shells and collect rocks to stack outside the opening of their shelter for the sole purpose of warding off predators.”

“There’s an interesting question—do you think an octopus has a soul?”

“You’re better off asking that question to Dharma, she’s our resident Buddhist. I do know they have three hearts, which are located in their heads—their brain is situated closer to their mouth. Wait, you’ll appreciate this.”

“You’re not going to torture another crab, are you?”

Ignoring my attempt at levity, she removed an empty plastic water bottle from a recycling bin, washed it out, then filled it with salt water, allowing it to sink to the bottom of the tank.

Oscar intercepted it—at least I assumed it was Oscar, but instead of touching it, the male octopus created a powerful jet stream of water, the burst sending the bottle over to Sophia. Within minutes, the two cephalopods were engaged in what might be perceived as a game of catch.

“Amazing.”

“Playful behavior is another sign of intelligence,” Lara explained. “What separates the octopus from other higher life-forms is that they are solitary creatures, remaining alone from the time they’re born. Humans and chimps, dogs and dolphins, learn from other members of their pack. Cephalopods must individually acquire knowledge in order to survive.”

“Some of us survived the Great Die-Off in a similar way.” I glanced at a wall clock. 6:05. “Damn, I’m late for a briefing. Nice, uh, meeting you.”

She winked. “See you again soon.”

Exiting the aquarium, I hurried back up the corridor connecting Phase III to Phase II. Directed by ABE, I quickly located the conference room, knocked, and entered.

My uncle was seated at a doughnut-shaped holographic table across from a balding scientist who I estimated to be in his early sixties. The man’s jawline sported a cinnamon-red beard. The general shot me a perturbed look, as if a quickie with my fiancée had caused the tardiness. “Sorry if this briefing interrupted your social life.”

“It wasn’t her.”

“Dr. Robert Eisenbraun, this is Dr. Donald Bruemmer, one of the Omega twelve. Dr. Bruemmer is the materials chemist GOLEM placed in charge of constructing
Oceanus I
and
II.
So there’s no confusion,
Oceanus I
is the prototype being used on the training mission,
Oceanus II
is the actual lunar module that will be forward-towed out by the Space Shuttle and deployed on Europa. Dr. Bruemmer delayed his arrival to the training site just to brief you.”

The German scientist looked at me with disdain. “As I told the general, I’m not one who likes surprises. Your presence on this training mission wasn’t announced until yesterday.”

ABE prompted me with a prepared comeback. “GOLEM wanted a backup to go through the training, just in case. There’d probably be three more of me onboard if the habitat had the room.”

“How fortunate we don’t.” Bruemmer clicked a palm control, causing a holographic image of
Oceanus
to bloom into view above the table’s center hole. “This is
Oceanus I
. It’s identical to the habitat we’ll be transporting to Europa, except that its cryogenic chamber will be located aboard the shuttle, affording
Oceanus II
more living space. As you can see, the design is spherical, allowing for optimal compressive strength required to maintain structural integrity at great depths.
Oceanus
is contained within a three-foot-thick outer casing composed of aero gel, the lightest, lowest density solid material ever produced. Aero gels are made by removing all of the liquid from silica gel while leaving its molecular density intact.”

To demonstrate his point, Bruemmer removed an ice cube–size piece of clear aero gel from his lab coat pocket. “If you examined aero gel under a microscope, you’d see trillions of nanometer-size particles of silicon dioxide interconnected in a porous labyrinth made up mostly of air. The material is incredibly dense. If you flattened this cube out, it would span an entire football field. And yet as dense as
Oceanus
’s three-story, hundred-fifty-foot-in-diameter sphere appears, the entire structure weighs less than fifty thousand pounds. The substance was used by NASA as thermo-insulation, making it perfect for the supercold temperatures of both space and Europa’s ocean.

“To locate, mine, and segregate helium-3 from Europa’s hydrothermal vents, GOLEM devised a porous aero gel vacuum tube composed of He-3 sensitive fluorophores. The tube will be used to cap a vent, then redirect steam generated by the superheated waters to churn a turbine, which will power
Oceanus
while the fluorophores break down and separate the helium-3 from the rest of the discharge. It’s really quite ingenious.”

“The volcanic vents are located on the seafloor. How does GOLEM expect to get this giant beach ball through eight miles of ice?”

Bruemmer pointed to the sphere’s four anchor arms. “Besides serving as a base, each of these support arms contains twin rockets, one exhaust pointing down, the other up. Each engine holds enough fuel to melt through thirty miles of ice. Fire up all four rockets and you have an instant elevator shaft melted within the ice sheet.”

The scientist changed the image to an internal layout of the sphere. “As you can see,
Oceanus
has three main decks. The lower level is dedicated to gathering and storing helium-3 as well as the habitat’s power station—a small nuclear reactor.”

“I thought you said
Oceanus
runs on steam generated by the vents?”

“It does, but we still require a backup system. Don’t look so nervous; it’s the same unit used on our old
Los Angeles–class
attack subs. The core can be jettisoned in an emergency.”

“What are these four smaller spheres?”

“Submersibles that double as escape pods. There’s also an emergency egress station—for whatever good that will do you. Water’s too cold and far too deep to survive.” He pointed to the middle deck, the largest of the three. “Second level services the needs of the crew. Everyone gets their own private quarters and bathroom. There’s a cafeteria, kitchen, arboretum, which converts CO
2
to oxygen, reverse osmosis plant to convert seawater or whatever they have on Europa to pure water, and multiple storage areas. This centrally located chamber here will be used as an entertainment area on
Oceanus II
, on
Oceanus I
we had to use it to hold the cryogenic pods for the thirty-day snooze. We could only fit the original twelve inside, yours had to be placed in another area.”

“Hope it’s not the laundry room.”

General Schall pointed to a vertical tube running through the core of the sphere. “What is this? It looks like an elevator shaft.”

“Actually, it’s a watertight chamber that holds the GOLEM mainframe. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a few things to do before we fly out to the dive site. Major Gazen will pick us up outside the Crary Center in four hours. Report to the staging area in this building an hour beforehand so we can outfit you properly. According to my last communication with Commander Read, with the windchill, it’s minus thirty-seven degrees Fahrenheit out there.”

There was a part of me that wanted to cancel the mission right there; only my soul mate’s presence out in that
−
37°F freezer kept me from changing my mind.

The things we do for love …

8

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

—R
EINHOLD
N
IEBUHR
, the Serenity Prayer

OMEGA TRAINING SITE
THIRTY-SEVEN MILES DUE WEST OF MCMURDO STATION
ROSS ICE SHELF

“Coldest temperature ever recorded out here was minus a hundred twenty-nine degrees Fahrenheit back in 1983.” Major Gazen shouted to be heard over the chopper’s rotors, the sound echoing as we soared over the ice sheet. “Make sure your clothing isn’t too tight. Tight layers of clothing leave no room for trapped air. You need the air as an insulator.”

From the copilot’s seat I offered a thumbs-up, about the only extremity I could move. I was bound in more layers than an onion, from the thermal long-sleeve top and long johns causing my boxer shorts to ride up the crack of my ass, to the fleece trousers and sweater, everything sealed beneath a jumpsuit designed to shield the wind. Two pairs of socks, two pairs of boots (the outer layer rubber-insulated), a pair of skintight gloves covered in elbow-high mittens, scarves, head gear, and tinted goggles—every inch of my flesh was concealed. Seated on my down parka, I had been instructed to wait until the chopper landed before slipping on this final protective shell.