So what was the alternative? Van der Berg sat down to consider his options. Because he was a geologist, and not an astrophysicist, it was several days before he suddenly realized that the answer had been staring him in the face ever since he had landed on Ganymede.
Afrikaans is one of the world’s best languages in which to curse; even when spoken politely, it can bruise innocent bystanders. Van der Berg let off steam for a few minutes; then he put through a call to the Tiamat Observatory – sitting precisely on the equator, with the tiny, blinding disc of Lucifer forever vertically overhead.
Astrophysicists, concerned with the most spectacular objects in the Universe, tend to patronize mere geologists who devote their lives to small, messy things like planets. But out here on the frontier, everyone helped everyone else, and Dr Wilkins was not only interested but sympathetic.
The Tiamat Observatory had been built for a single purpose, which had indeed been one of the main reasons for establishing a base on Ganymede. The study of Lucifer was of enormous importance not only to pure scientists but also to nuclear engineers, meteorologists, oceanographers – and, not least, to statesmen and philosophers. That there were entities which could turn a planet into a sun was a staggering thought, and had kept many awake at night. It would be well for mankind to learn all it could about the process; one day there might be need to imitate it – or prevent it.
And so for more than a decade Tiamat had been observing Lucifer with every possible type of instrumentation, continually recording its spectrum across the entire electromagnetic band, and also actively probing it with radar from a modest hundred-metre dish, slung across a small impact crater.
‘Yes,’ said Dr Wilkins, ‘we’ve often looked at Europa and Io. But our beam is fixed on Lucifer, so we can only see them for a few minutes while they’re in transit. And your Mount Zeus is just on the dayside, so it’s hidden from us then.’
‘I realize that,’ said van der Berg a little impatiently. ‘But couldn’t you offset the beam by just a little, so you could have a look at Europa before it comes in line? Ten or twenty degrees would get you far enough into dayside.’
‘One degree would be enough to miss Lucifer, and get Europa full-face on the other side of its orbit. But then it would be more than three times further away, so we’d only have a hundredth of the reflected power. Might work, though: we’ll give it a try. Let me have the specs on frequencies, wave envelopes, polarization and anything else your remote-sensing people think will help. It won’t take us long to rig up a phase-shifting network that will slew the beam a couple of degrees. More than that I don’t know – it’s not a problem we’ve ever considered. Though perhaps we should have done so – anyway, what do you expect to find on Europa, except ice and water?’
‘If I knew,’ said van der Berg cheerfully, ‘I wouldn’t be asking for help, would I?’
‘And I wouldn’t be asking for full credit when you publish. Too bad my name’s at the end of the alphabet; you’ll be ahead of me by only one letter.’
That was a year ago: the long-range scans hadn’t been good enough, and offsetting the beam to look on to Europa’s dayside just before conjunction had proved more difficult than expected. But at last the results were in; the computers had digested them, and van der Berg was the first human being to look at a mineralogical map of post-Lucifer Europa.
It was, as Dr Wilkins had surmised, mostly ice and water, with outcroppings of basalt interspersed with deposits of sulphur. But there were two anomalies.
One appeared to be an artefact of the imaging process; there was an absolutely straight feature, two kilometres long, which showed virtually no radar echo. Van der Berg left Dr Wilkins to puzzle over that; he was only concerned with Mount Zeus.
It had taken him a long time to make the identification, because only a madman – or a really desperate scientist – would have dreamed that such a thing was possible. Even now, though every parameter checked to the limits of accuracy, he still could not really believe it. And he had not even attempted to consider his next move.
When Dr Wilkins called, anxious to see his name and reputation spreading through the data banks, he mumbled that he was still analysing the results. But at last he could put it off no longer.
‘Nothing very exciting,’ he told his unsuspecting colleague. ‘Merely a rare form of quartz – I’m still trying to match it from Earth samples.’
It was the first time he had ever lied to a fellow scientist, and he felt terrible about it.
But what was the alternative?
12
Oom Paul
Rolf van der Berg had not seen his Uncle Paul for a decade, and it was not likely that they would ever again meet in the flesh. Yet he felt very close to the old scientist – the last of his generation, and the only one who could recall (when he wished, which was seldom) his forefathers’ way of life.
Dr Paul Kreuger – ‘Oom Paul’ to all his family and most of his friends – was always there when he was needed, with information and advice, either in person or at the end of a half-billion-kilometre radio link. Rumour had it that only extreme political pressure had forced the Nobel Committee – with great reluctance – to overlook his contributions to particle physics, now once more in desperate disarray after the general house-cleaning at the end of the twentieth century.
If this was true, Dr Kreuger bore no grudge. Modest and unassuming, he had no personal enemies, even among the cantankerous factions of his fellow exiles. Indeed, he was so universally respected that he had received several invitations to re-visit the United States of Southern Africa, but had always politely declined – not, he hastened to explain, because he felt he would be in any physical danger in the USSA, but because he feared that the sense of nostalgia would be overwhelming.
Even using the security of a language now understood by less than a million people, van der Berg had been very discreet, and had used circumlocutions and references that would be meaningless except to a close relative. But Paul had no difficulty in understanding his nephew’s message, though he could not take it seriously. He was afraid young Rolf had made a fool of himself, and would let him down as gently as possible. Just as well he hadn’t rushed to publish: at least he had the sense to keep quiet…
And suppose – just suppose – it was true? The scanty hairs rose on the back of Paul’s head. A whole spectrum of possibilities – scientific, financial, political – suddenly opened up before his eyes, and the more he considered them, the more awesome they appeared.
Unlike his devout ancestors, Dr Kreuger had no God to address in moments of crisis or perplexity. Now, he almost wished he had; but even if he could pray, that wouldn’t really help. As he sat down at his computer and started to access the data banks, he did not know whether to hope that his nephew had made a stupendous discovery – or was talking utter nonsense. Could the Old One really play such an incredible trick on mankind? Paul remembered Einstein’s famous comment that though He was subtle, He was never malicious.
Stop daydreaming, Dr Paul Kreuger told himself. Your likes or dislikes, your hopes or fears, have absolutely nothing to do with the matter.
A challenge had been flung to him across half the width of the Solar System; he would not know peace until he had uncovered the truth.
13
‘No-one told us to bring swimsuits…’
Captain Smith kept his little surprise until day five, just a few hours before turnaround. His announcement was received, as he had expected, with stunned incredulity.
Victor Willis was the first to recover.
‘A swimming pool! In a spaceship! You must be joking!’
The Captain leaned back and prepared to enjoy himself. He grinned at Heywood Floyd who had already been let into the secret.
‘Well, I suppose Columbus would have been amazed at some of the facilities on the ships that came after him.’
‘Is there a diving board?’ asked Greenburg wistfully. ‘I used to be college champion.’
‘As a matter of fact – yes. It’s only five metres – but that will give you three seconds of free fall, at our nominal tenth of a gee. And if you want a longer time, I’m sure Mr Curtis will be happy to reduce thrust.’
‘Indeed?’ said the Chief Engineer dryly. ‘And mess up all my orbit calculations? Not to mention the risk of the water crawling out, Surface tension, you know…