‘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!’