Authors: Ben Bova
Venus (31 page)
But most of those butterflies inside me were from anticipation. To my utter surprise, I was looking forward to this! I told myself I was a fool, but it didn’t matter; I
wanted
to go,
wanted
to be the first living human being to reach the hellhole surface of Venus,
wanted
to get down there and search for Alex’s remains.
wanted
to go,
wanted
to be the first living human being to reach the hellhole surface of Venus,
wanted
to get down there and search for Alex’s remains.
I forced myself to picture my home in Majorca and the cool, lovely blue sky and sea. And Gwyneth. My friends. My life before this mission to Venus had shattered everything. It all seemed pale and senseless now. Pointless. Mere existence, not living.
Even as I began to pull on the heat suit, with Nodon and bulky, sulky Amarjagal helping me, I couldn’t help thinking, I’m alive! I’m doing something real, something that’s never been done before, something that matters in the ongoing development of the human race.
A voice in my head warned sardonically, What you are doing is very likely to kill you.
And the other side of my mind quoted Shakespeare: We owe God a death … he that gives it this year is quits for the next.
In other words, I had gone slightly crazy.
T
hings started going wrong right from the start.
hings started going wrong right from the start.
Hecate
’s actual cockpit was different from the VR simulation’s. The differences were subtle, but significant. For one thing, the foot pedals that controlled the thrusters and diving planes were a couple of centimeters too far away for my boots to reach comfortably. I had to stretch my legs and point my toes to get a solid contact with the pedals. In those Frankenstein boots I had to wear, that was a guaranteed method of developing leg cramps. Or foot cramps. Or both.
’s actual cockpit was different from the VR simulation’s. The differences were subtle, but significant. For one thing, the foot pedals that controlled the thrusters and diving planes were a couple of centimeters too far away for my boots to reach comfortably. I had to stretch my legs and point my toes to get a solid contact with the pedals. In those Frankenstein boots I had to wear, that was a guaranteed method of developing leg cramps. Or foot cramps. Or both.
The layout of the controls was the same, thank goodness, but
Hecate
didn’t respond to the controls in the same smooth, clean fashion as the virtual reality sim. As I went through the checklist, lying there prone in the heat suit and sweating bullets even before the ship was released from
Lucifer
’s hold, it seemed to me that there was a slight lag between my touching a control and the response from the ship’s systems. It was only a tiny hesitation, but it was noticeable—and annoying.
Hecate
didn’t respond to the controls in the same smooth, clean fashion as the virtual reality sim. As I went through the checklist, lying there prone in the heat suit and sweating bullets even before the ship was released from
Lucifer
’s hold, it seemed to me that there was a slight lag between my touching a control and the response from the ship’s systems. It was only a tiny hesitation, but it was noticeable—and annoying.
I was wondering if there was some way to speed up the ship’s response even while we went through the checklist and started the separation countdown.
In my helmet earphones I heard Fuchs ask perfunctorily, “T minus two minutes and counting. Any problems?”
“Uh, no,” I said, quite unprofessionally. “Everything’s pretty good here.”
He caught the doubt in my voice. “Pretty good? What does that mean?”
The countdown would go into automatic mode at T minus one minute, we both knew. This was no time to try to fiddle with the control responses.
“Nothing, forget it. Ready for separation sequence.”
Silence from the bridge, until the computer’s synthesized voice came on, “T minus one minute. Separation sequence engaged.”
“Right,” I said.
“T minus fifty seconds. Internal power on.”
I heard pumps start chugging. The instrument panel flickered for an eyeblink, then its lights steadied. I knew my suit’s cooling system was working, I could hear the tiny fan in my helmet buzzing. Yet I was already drenched with cold sweat. Nerves. Nothing but nerves.
“T minus thirty seconds. Bay hatch opening.”
Through
Hecate
’s thick hull and my own suit’s heavy insulation I heard the low rumble of the hatch swinging back slowly. From my position, flat on my belly in
Hecate
’s pointed nose, I looked down at the thick quartz panel set into the floor of the cockpit just below the instrument board. All I saw was the inside of my stupid helmet! I had to twist my head and crane my neck to see the window through the tiny faceplate of my helmet.
Hecate
’s thick hull and my own suit’s heavy insulation I heard the low rumble of the hatch swinging back slowly. From my position, flat on my belly in
Hecate
’s pointed nose, I looked down at the thick quartz panel set into the floor of the cockpit just below the instrument board. All I saw was the inside of my stupid helmet! I had to twist my head and crane my neck to see the window through the tiny faceplate of my helmet.
And there it was, the sullen, incandescent surface of Venus, glowing like a sea of molten lava. I could
feel
that heat boiling up at me, clutching for me. I knew it was my imagination; we were still several kilometers above the surface, yet I felt the hot breath of the planet smothering me.
feel
that heat boiling up at me, clutching for me. I knew it was my imagination; we were still several kilometers above the surface, yet I felt the hot breath of the planet smothering me.
I stared at those red-hot rocks as the countdown ticked away.
“Three … two … one … release,” said the computer’s impassive voice.
With a heart-stopping bang the latches that held
Hecate
firmly in their grip suddenly released and I was falling through the thick, still air of Venus toward its distant hard surface. I was frozen with terror, paralyzed as I felt my stomach surging up into my throat. It was like dropping down the longest elevator shaft in the universe toward a blazing hot furnace. But slowly, slowly as in a nightmare.
Hecate
firmly in their grip suddenly released and I was falling through the thick, still air of Venus toward its distant hard surface. I was frozen with terror, paralyzed as I felt my stomach surging up into my throat. It was like dropping down the longest elevator shaft in the universe toward a blazing hot furnace. But slowly, slowly as in a nightmare.
Fuchs’s voice crackled in my earphones:
“Hurled headlong flaming from th’ etheral sky, With hideous ruin and combustion, down To bottomless perdition …”
And he laughed. Laughed!
That broke my terrified paralysis. I kicked at the pedals, ran my fingers across the controllers, struggled to get
Hecate
leveled off and gliding properly.
Hecate
leveled off and gliding properly.
“Pull her nose up,” Fuchs commanded. “Don’t dive her! Get your speed right and she’ll sink at her natural rate.”
“Right,” I said, kicking the pedals and working the touchpad controls as furiously as I could.
“You’re overcontrolling her!” he shouted so loud in my earphones it made me wince.
I was desperately trying to get the feel of the controls. They didn’t respond the way the VR sim did. I got a flash of memory from the first time I tried to ride a horse and realized that this substitute for an automobile had a mind of its own; it did not respond mechanically to my steering.
“I should’ve gone down myself,” Fuchs was grumbling.
Slowly I was getting the feel of the controls, but a glance at the course profile indicator on the panel showed me I was far off my intended speed and angle of descent. The dive-plane control felt especially stiff; the pedal barely budged even when I tried to kick it.
The flight plan was for me to spiral down toward the
Phosphoros
’s wreckage, while Fuchs kept
Lucifer
circling overhead some three kilometers up. I was scanning the wreckage with every instrument aboard
Hecate
, which wasn’t really all that much: radar, infrared, and optical sensors. The infrared was practically useless, swamped by the enormous heat flow from the surface.
Phosphoros
’s wreckage, while Fuchs kept
Lucifer
circling overhead some three kilometers up. I was scanning the wreckage with every instrument aboard
Hecate
, which wasn’t really all that much: radar, infrared, and optical sensors. The infrared was practically useless, swamped by the enormous heat flow from the surface.
Greenbaum’s theory of planetary upheaval popped into the front of my mind. What if Venus decided to overturn its surface right now, at this precise time? A volcano had erupted less than a thousand kilometers from here. What if everything down there suddenly began to melt and all the stored heat that’s been trapped deep below ground suddenly comes bursting out? Murphy’s Law on a planetary scale. After five hundred million years of waiting, the planet decides to blow off its surface while I’m there. I’d be roasted in a minute; not even
Lucifer
could escape the catastrophe.
Lucifer
could escape the catastrophe.
That’s not going to happen, I told myself sternly. Put it out of your mind. I remembered the gloomy look on Greenbaum’s face when he admitted that there was practically no chance that the cataclysm would happen while we were there to observe it—or be incinerated by it, more likely.
“Stay on the profile!” Fuchs snapped.
I was struggling to do just that, but I wasn’t succeeding fast enough to avoid stirring his wrath. Gritting my teeth, I traced my fingertips across the touchpads, feeling more like a child playing with a magnetic sketching toy than an intrepid astronaut making the first controlled descent to the surface of Venus.
“Where’s your imagery?” Fuchs demanded.
I saw from the control panel that I hadn’t switched on the channel that telemetered the pictures that
Hecate
’s sensors were getting.
Hecate
’s sensors were getting.
“On its way,” I said, imitating the clipped tone of astronauts I remembered from old videos.
I put the optical camera view on my own screen, right in front of my face. Now I could see why Fuchs was complaining;
it showed nothing but bare hot rocks. It should have been focused on the wreckage.
it showed nothing but bare hot rocks. It should have been focused on the wreckage.
Gradually I smoothed out
Hecate
’s flight, got the ship on course. I wasn’t using the thrusters, they weren’t needed until I had to lift from the surface, so I put both my booted feet on the pedal that controlled the diving planes. It was a little easier to work them that way. Sure enough, my calf muscles started cramping, hard enough to make me want to scream from the pain. But I kept at it, grimly determined to get down to the wreckage and find what was left of my brother’s body.
Hecate
’s flight, got the ship on course. I wasn’t using the thrusters, they weren’t needed until I had to lift from the surface, so I put both my booted feet on the pedal that controlled the diving planes. It was a little easier to work them that way. Sure enough, my calf muscles started cramping, hard enough to make me want to scream from the pain. But I kept at it, grimly determined to get down to the wreckage and find what was left of my brother’s body.
In a way it really was like riding a horse.
Hecate
had a will of her own, and I had to learn to deal with it. The controls were terribly stiff and slow to respond, but little by little I got the feel of them, and focused the sensors on the wreckage below. It wasn’t anything like flying; Venus’s atmosphere was so thick that my descent was more like a submarine groping for the bottom of the ocean.
Hecate
had a will of her own, and I had to learn to deal with it. The controls were terribly stiff and slow to respond, but little by little I got the feel of them, and focused the sensors on the wreckage below. It wasn’t anything like flying; Venus’s atmosphere was so thick that my descent was more like a submarine groping for the bottom of the ocean.
There wasn’t much to see, at first.
Phosphoros
’s gas envelope had collapsed atop most of the ship’s gondola. I could only see one end of the gondola sticking out from beneath the warped, twisted metal. Huge sections were missing, eaten away, it looked like. They must have spent even more time in the bug-laden clouds than we had in
Hesperos
, with disastrous results.
Phosphoros
’s gas envelope had collapsed atop most of the ship’s gondola. I could only see one end of the gondola sticking out from beneath the warped, twisted metal. Huge sections were missing, eaten away, it looked like. They must have spent even more time in the bug-laden clouds than we had in
Hesperos
, with disastrous results.
As I edged lower, I began to see the characteristic charring-like streaks along what little of the gondola was visible beneath the crumpled gas envelope. The envelope itself was smudged and streaked with the dark char stains from the bugs in the clouds.
Phosphoros
wasn’t sabotaged, I realized. It didn’t have to be. Those aerobacteria destroyed my brother’s ship just as they destroyed my own.
Phosphoros
wasn’t sabotaged, I realized. It didn’t have to be. Those aerobacteria destroyed my brother’s ship just as they destroyed my own.
Then I noticed something strange. Curving lines were criss-crossed over the wreckage, a dozen or more thin lines almost like twine or string looped around a package. I wondered what they were. Nothing I remembered from the design drawings or pictures of
Phosphoros
showed strapping
or any other kind of structural supports strung across the gas envelope.
Phosphoros
showed strapping
or any other kind of structural supports strung across the gas envelope.
Curious.
“Spiral in tighter,” Fuchs commanded. “Stay focused on the wreckage.”
“That’s what I’m trying to do,” I said, feeling testy.
“Don’t try,” he sneered. “Do!”
I snapped, “You come and do it if you don’t like the way I’m handling it!”
He went silent.
I could see the wreckage in more detail as I descended cautiously through the thick air. It was clear enough; no haze or dust in the air. But the pressure was so high that it was like peering through seawater. Things were distorted, twisted.
At first I couldn’t tell which end of the gondola was sticking out from beneath the collapsed envelope, but as I got closer I recognized it was the forward section. It had split open like an overcooked sausage, ripped right down the middle. I saw plenty of charring streaks that the aerobacteria had left on the outer surface of the hull. The insides looked strangely bare and empty.
With a sudden gasp of hope I saw that the compartment where the escape pod had been housed was empty. Had Alex gotten away? Had he used the pod to ride up into orbit?
Then I realized that it made no difference if he had; it was more than three years since
Phosphoros
went down. He couldn’t be alive even if his pod had made it to orbit. Besides, there had been absolutely no radio messages from the escape pod, not even an automated beacon.
Phosphoros
went down. He couldn’t be alive even if his pod had made it to orbit. Besides, there had been absolutely no radio messages from the escape pod, not even an automated beacon.
Then, to seal the question, I saw the pod. It had rolled a few dozen meters from the rest of the wreckage, coming to rest against a big, hot, glowing rock the size of a suburban house.
And several of those strange dark lines went across the bare rock to the escape pod. They were too straight to be
cracks in the surface, and they came from too many different angles to be the track of the pod’s rolling across the rocky surface.
cracks in the surface, and they came from too many different angles to be the track of the pod’s rolling across the rocky surface.
“What are those lines?” Fuchs asked.
“That’s what I’d like to know,” I said.
“They seem to radiate outward from the escape pod.”
“Or to come together at the spot where the pod came to rest,” I corrected.
“Impact cracks?” he mused.
“There’s more of them crisscrossed over the gas envelope,” I said.
“Can’t be cracks, then.”
“Right,” I answered. “But what are they?”
“Go find out.”
“Right.”
“We’re using up a lot of fuel, keeping station above you,” he said. That was Fuchs’s way of telling me to hurry up.
“I’ll be on the surface in a few minutes,” I said. Inwardly, I was trying to decide if I should put
Hecate
down alongside the pod or next to the wreckage of the ship’s main body.
Hecate
down alongside the pod or next to the wreckage of the ship’s main body.
“Check out the pod first,” Fuchs said, as if he could read my mind. “Then you can lift and shift over to the gondola.”
“Right,” I said again. I realized it had been some time since he’d insisted on my addressing him as “sir” or “captain.” Did he respect me now as an equal? Or was it the father-son relationship? That was tricky. It was just as wrenching for him to find that I was his son as it was for me to learn he was my father. Neither one of us was prepared to handle that load of emotional freight.
Something flickered in the corner of my eye.
“What was that?” Fuchs snapped.
“What?”
“That light.”
I scanned the control panel, looked through the observation port in the deck. Everything seemed to be functioning properly.
“What light?”
“On the horizon,” he said, his voice hesitant, uncertain. “In the east.”
Trying to remember which way was east, I looked through the forward port. Far off on the horizon there was a glow lighting the grayish-yellow clouds. It pulsed, brightened.
“Sunrise?” I guessed.
“Too soon,” said Fuchs. “Besides, the sun rises in the west.”
That’s right, I said to myself. Then what was the light in the east?
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