Captain Eric Laplace was delighted that the three-month stayover off Ganymede would not be a complete loss. An anonymous and unexpected grant to the Planetary Science Foundation would finance a reconnaissance of the Jovian (even now, no-one ever called it Luciferian) satellite system, paying particular attention to a dozen of the neglected smaller moons. Some of these had never even been properly surveyed, much less visited.
As soon as he heard of the mission, Rolf van der Berg called the Tsung shipping agent and made some discreet enquiries.
‘Yes, first we’ll head in towards Io – then do a flyby of Europa -‘
‘Only a flyby? How close?’
‘Just a moment – odd, the flight plan doesn’t give details. But of course she won’t go inside the Interdiction Zone.’
‘Which was down to ten thousand kilometres at the last ruling… fifteen years ago. Anyway, I’d like to volunteer as Mission Planetologist. I’ll send across my qualifications -‘
‘No need to do so, Dr van der Berg. They’ve already asked for you.’
It is always easy to be wise after the event, and when he cast his mind back (he had plenty of time for it later) Captain Laplace recalled a number of curious aspects of the charter. Two crew members were taken suddenly sick, and were replaced at short notice; he was so glad to have substitutes that he did not check their papers as closely as he might have done. (And even if he had, he would have discovered that they were perfectly in order.)
Then there was the trouble with the cargo. As captain, he was entitled to inspect anything that went aboard the ship. Of course, it was impossible to do this for every item, but he never hesitated to investigate if he had good reason. Space crews were, on the whole, a highly responsible body of men; but long missions could be boring, and there were tedium-relieving chemicals which – though perfectly legal on Earth – should be discouraged off it.
When Second Officer Chris Floyd reported his suspicions, the Captain assumed that the ship’s chromatographic ‘sniffer’ had detected another cache of the high-grade opium which his largely Chinese crew occasionally patronized. This time, however, the matter was serious – very serious.
‘Cargo Hold Three, Item 2/456, Captain. The manifest says “Scientific apparatus”. It contains explosives.’
‘What!’
‘Definitely, Sir. Here’s the electrogram.’
‘I’ll take your word for it, Mr Floyd. Have you inspected the item?’
‘No, Sir. It’s in a sealed crew case, half a metre by one metre by five metres, approximately. One of the largest packages the science team brought aboard. It’s labelled FRAGILE – HANDLE WITH CARE. But so is everything, of course.’
Captain Laplace drummed his fingers thoughtfully on the grained plastic ‘wood’ of his desk. (He hated the pattern, and intended to get rid of it on the next refit.) Even that slight action started him rising out of his seat, and he automatically anchored himself by wrapping his foot around the pillar of the chair.
Though he did not for a moment doubt Floyd’s report – his new Second Officer was very competent, and the Captain was pleased that he had never brought up the subject of his famous grandfather -there could be an innocent explanation. The sniffer might have been misled by other chemicals with nervous molecular bondings.
They could go down into the hold and force open the package. No – that might be dangerous, and could cause legal problems as well. Best to go straight to the top; he’d have to do that anyway, sooner or later.
‘Please bring Dr Anderson here – and don’t mention this to anyone else,’
‘Very good, Sir.’ Chris Floyd gave a respectful but quite unnecessary salute, and left the room in a smooth, effortless glide.
The leader of the science team was not accustomed to zero gravity, and his entrance was quite clumsy. His obvious genuine indignation did not help, and he had to grab the Captain’s desk several times in an undignified manner.
‘Explosives! Of course not! Let me see the manifest… 2/456…’
Dr Anderson pecked out the reference on his portable keyboard, and slowly read off: “Mark V penetrometers, Quantity three.” Of course – no problem.’
‘And just what,’ said the Captain, ‘is a penetrometer?’ Despite his concern, he had difficulty in suppressing a smile; it sounded a little obscene.
‘Standard planetary sampling device. You drop it, and with any luck it will give you a core up to ten metres long – even in hard rock. Then it sends back a complete chemical analysis. The only safe way to study places like dayside Mercury – or Io, where we’ll drop the first one.’
‘Dr Anderson,’ said the Captain, with great selfrestraint, ‘you may be an excellent geologist, but you don’t know much about celestial mechanics. You can’t just drop things from orbit -‘
The charge of ignorance was clearly unfounded, as the scientist’s reaction proved.
‘The idiots!’ he said. ‘Of course, you should have been notified.’
‘Exactly. Solid fuel rockets are classified as “Hazardous Cargo”. I want clearance from the underwriters, and your personal assurance that the safety systems are adequate; otherwise, they go overboard. Now, any other little surprises? Were you planning seismic surveys? I believe those usually involve explosives…’
A few hours later, the somewhat chastened scientist admitted that he had also found two bottles of elemental fluorine, used to power the lasers which could zap passing celestial bodies at thousand-kilometre ranges for spectrographic sampling. As pure fluorine was about the most vicious substance known to man, it was high on the list of prohibited materials – but, like the rockets which drove the penetrometers down to their targets, it was essential for the mission.
When he was quite satisfied that all the necessary precautions had been taken, Captain Laplace accepted the scientist’s apologies, and his assurance that the oversight was entirely due to the haste with which the expedition had been organized.
He felt sure that Dr Anderson was telling the truth, but already he felt that there was something odd about the mission.
Just how odd he could never have imagined.
23
Inferno
Before the detonation of Jupiter, Io had been second only to Venus as the best approximation to Hell in the Solar System. Now that Lucifer had raised its surface temperature another couple of hundred degrees, even Venus could no longer compete.
The sulphur volcanoes and geysers had multiplied their activity, now reshaping the features of the tormented satellite in years rather than decades. The planetologists had given up any attempt at mapmaking, and contented themselves with taking orbital photographs every few days. From these, they had constructed awe-inspiring time-lapse movies of inferno in action.
Lloyd’s of London had charged a stiff premium for this leg of the mission, but Io posed no real danger to a ship doing a flyby at a minimum range of ten thousand kilometres – and over the relatively quiescent nightside at that.
As he watched the approaching yellow and orange globe – the most improbably garish object in the entire Solar System – Second Officer Chris Floyd could not help recalling the time, now half a century ago, when his grandfather had come this way. Here, Leonov had made its rendezvous with the abandoned Discovery, and here Dr Chandra had reawakened the dormant computer Hal. Then both ships had flown on to survey the enormous black monolith hovering at L1, the Inner Lagrange Point between Io and Jupiter.
Now the monolith was gone – and so was Jupiter. The minisun that had risen like a phoenix from the implosion of the giant planet had turned its satellites into what was virtually another Solar System, though only on Ganymede and Europa were there regions with Earthlike temperatures. How long that would continue to be the case, no-one knew. Estimates of Lucifer’s life-span ranged from a thousand to a million years.
Galaxy’s science team looked wistfully at the L1 point, but it was now far too dangerous to approach. There had always been a river of electrical energy – the Io ‘flux tube’ – flowing between Jupiter and its inner satellite, and the creation of Lucifer had increased its strength several hundredfold. Sometimes the river of power could even be seen by the naked eye, glowing yellow with the characteristic light of ionized sodium. Some engineers on Ganymede had talked hopefully about tapping the gigawatts going to waste next door, but no-one could think of a plausible way of doing so.
The first penetrometer was launched, with vulgar comments from the crew, and two hours later drove like a hypodermic needle into the festering satellite. It continued to operate for almost five seconds – ten times its designed lifetime – broadcasting thousands of chemical, physical and rheological measurements, before Io demolished it.
The scientists were ecstatic; van der Berg was merely pleased. He had expected the probe to work; Io was an absurdly easy target. But if he was right about Europa, the second penetrometer would surely fail.