Leviathans of Jupiter gt-18

by Ben Bova

  Don’t panic, she told herself. Plenty of other people have done this. Dr. Archer did, lots of others. Dorn, too. Why isn’t he here, as he said he’d be?

  Her lungs were burning. She had to breathe! Don’t panic. Don’t panic, she screamed silently. Take a breath, a deep breath. But her body refused to obey her mind’s command. Deirdre squeezed her eyes shut, suddenly wishing that she were with her father back home, safe, warm, breathing normal air …

  Involuntarily, she sucked in a breath. And gagged. Coughing, sputtering, her body arched painfully. And she realized that she was breathing! Her mouth open and gasping, Deirdre was breathing the liquid perfluorocarbon. It felt cold and oily and completely awful, but she could breathe it.

  Her hands let go of the ladder rung and she sank gently down toward the bottom of the tank. Looking down, she saw there was a console of some sort set up down there. And someone sitting at it, looking up at her.

  “Welcome,” said Dorn, his voice magisterially deep in the perfluorocarbon liquid.

  FARADAY

  Sure enough, the predators had led Faraday to the leviathans. One sensor set after another confirmed that a huge agglomeration of the gigantic creatures was moving steadily through the dark sea in a massive spherical formation. The predators themselves had slowed their own advance and remained at a considerable distance from the leviathans.

  Faraday’s human analog program projected an image of lions hunting on a wide, grassy plain on Earth. Their prey was a herd of spiral-horned antelope, off in the distance, loitering by a sluggishly moving stream. The tawny beasts hunkered down in the long, waving yellow grass, crawling slowly on their bellies to get close enough to the herd to attack and kill. As some of the antelope stooped to drink, other members of the herd stood alert, ears twitching, sniffing the wind for a scent of danger.

  An analogy, Faraday’s central computer understood, programmed into the memory core to help the computer to recognize what its sensors showed of the alien undersea world.

  The sharklike predators swam off to one side of the huge spherical formation of leviathans. They stayed the same distance from the outermost periphery of the herd, content to wait. For how long? Central computer’s forecasting subprogram did not have enough data to make a meaningful prediction. But the time line showed that Faraday’s mission was almost at its conclusion. Already the countdown for returning to the orbiting research station had started ticking.

  A human observer would have found the situation maddeningly strange. The predators were following the leviathans’ spherical formation, neither coming closer to their prey nor abandoning their long chase. The leviathans showed no indication that they recognized the danger lurking nearby.

  One minute left in the mission, the time line showed. Main propulsion drive activated: intake valves open, fusion powerplant ramping up to heat the intake water into plasma. Propulsion jets ready and on standby.

  Suddenly the spherical formation of leviathans shifted, split apart into two separate halves. From the core of the formation a mammoth leviathan glided purposefully outward, its flanks flashing colors that shimmered through the water.

  Like a school of fish, the predators immediately turned as one unit toward the creature that was emerging from the leviathans’ formation.

  Faraday’s priority hierarchy demanded that a fresh data capsule be prepared. This kind of behavior had never been observed before. The major priority, second only to self-survival, was to send this data back to mission control.

  The time line showed forty-seven seconds left in the mission. Central computer concluded it could carry the data to mission control without risking a data capsule launch. But the priority hierarchy insisted that a capsule be launched. Redundancy, central computer recognized. Better to have the data relayed to mission control twice than not at all. If Faraday became incapacitated, unable to get out of the ocean, the data capsule would still deliver the information to mission control.

  That decision took fourteen nanoseconds. Faraday ran a final diagnostic check on its main propulsion system even while its sensors showed that a huge leviathan was leaving the protective formation of its group and heading away from them, alone.

  The predators slowly, warily approached the lone leviathan as it glided majestically away from its kin.

  Twenty-five seconds to propulsion ignition, central computer’s time line showed. Data capsule programmed and ready for launch.

  The lone leviathan began to shudder as it swam away from its fellows. Part of the huge beast separated from its main body and floated aimlessly away. Not for long, though. One of the predators broke from its formation and slashed at the separated piece with scimitar-sized teeth.

  The predators swarmed over the lone leviathan, tearing at it, while the rest of the leviathans swam slowly away, as if nothing were happening.

  Launch capsule, central computer commanded. Ignite main propulsion drive.

  Faraday launched the data capsule and milliseconds later lit up its main drive. Superheated steam drove the spherical submersible upward like a pellet fired from a rifle while the predators tore at the lone leviathan and the rest of the herd of gigantic creatures moved steadily away from the scene of the carnage.

  MAIN CONFERENCE ROOM

  Grant Archer stood at the head of the conference table and looked at the various department heads arrayed along its length, chatting in muted tones with one another. Down at the foot of the table sat Max Yeager, looking wary, almost suspiciously, at the scientists flanking him on either side. At least Yeager looked presentable; he had shaved and put on some fresh clothes.

  Katherine Westfall sat at Archer’s right; she seemed mildly bored. Three of her aides were seated along the wall behind her.

  “Let’s come to order, please,” Archer said, tapping the tabletop with a fingernail. The various conversations stopped; all heads turned toward him.

  “We’re here to review the results of Faraday’s mission,” Archer said. Making a slight bow toward Westfall, he added, “And we’re honored by the presence of a member of the International Astronautical Authority’s governing council.”

  One of the scientists clapped her hands lightly and immediately the rest of them joined in. Westfall smiled demurely and raised her hands in a modest signal to silence them.

  “Faraday returned three days ago,” Archer resumed, “apparently undamaged. We’ll review the significance of the data it carried back with it, but first I want to ask Dr. Yeager how his examination of the vessel’s systems has gone.”

  Yeager had indeed shaved and scrubbed for this meeting. His long hair glistened as if he’d just stepped out of a shower. He was wearing a spanking new tunic and slacks of a golden brown sandy hue, yet they somehow looked wrinkled and baggy on him as he got up from his chair.

  Pointing a palm-sized remote at the wall screen to his right, Yeager said, “I could spend a few hours going over all the details.” The screen showed schematics of Faraday’s layout. “But the long and the short of it is that the ship performed well within specifications. All systems worked as designed; even though she took a bit of a battering from the sharks, there was no significant damage.”

  “Significant damage?” Westfall picked up on the word.

  Yeager forced a smile for her. “By that I mean there wasn’t any damage at all. All systems worked fine. She went down to her design limit depth—”

  “How deep is that?” Westfall asked.

  “One thousand kilometers below the surface,” Yeager replied. A little sheepishly, he added, “Actually, she bottomed out at nine hundred and fourteen klicks.”

  “The vessel worked as designed,” Archer said, cutting off any further dialogue. “Thank you, Dr. Yeager. Your ship performed beautifully.”

  Max grinned even more widely and sat down.

  “However,” Archer went on, his expression turning more serious, “we have less than satisfactory results from the mission.”

  Before Yeager could react Archer explained, “I m
ean that Faraday spent most of its time in the ocean searching for the leviathans, and almost as soon as it found them, the ship left and returned here.”

  “It followed mission protocol!” Yeager objected. “She was programmed to return at a specific time and that’s just what she did.”

  “Precisely,” said Archer.

  Michael Johansen raised a long-fingered hand and said, “It’s no reflection on you, Max. The bird left just as things were getting interesting.”

  Yeager muttered something too low for the rest of them to hear.

  Westfall asked, in her soft little-girl voice, “What do you mean, just as things were getting interesting?”

  Johansen turned to her. “Let me show you.” He clicked his own remote and the wall screen darkened.

  “More contrast,” Johansen murmured. The screen brightened somewhat, showing the shadowy figures of leviathans gliding easily through the depths.

  “The leviathans weren’t in their usual feeding location,” said the lanky Johansen, getting up from his chair like a giraffe climbing to its feet. “Most of the time Faraday was down there was spent searching for the creatures.”

  “And being attacked by the sharks,” Yeager added.

  With a nod toward the engineer, Johansen said, “Yes, but the primary objective of the mission was to observe the leviathans. By the time Faraday found them it had to leave the scene and return here.”

  “As it was programmed to do,” Yeager insisted.

  Archer stepped in. “As it was indeed programmed to do. No one’s faulting the vehicle or its performance, Dr. Yeager.”

  “Yeah, but I see a lot of unhappy faces along this table,” Max grumbled.

  “That’s not your fault,” Archer soothed. “The problem is that the vessel was following the program we wrote for it, without the capability to change that programming in the face of unexpected events.”

  Yeager nodded, but still looked unhappy.

  “We did learn quite a bit,” Archer continued. “The leviathans have left the feeding area where we’ve always found them before.”

  Johansen interjected, “The stream of organics flowing in from the clouds above the ocean has been interrupted, probably by the impact of Comet McDaniel-Lloyd last month.”

  One of the biologists, a blocky-sized woman with a military buzz cut, said, “So they went searching for another stream to feed on.”

  “Exactly,” said Johansen.

  Archer pointed out, “Faraday found a larger grouping of sharks than we’ve ever seen before.”

  “And they attacked the vessel,” said Johansen.

  “No damage,” Yeager said.

  The buzz-cut biologist pointed out, “The sharks seemed to be exhibiting territorial behavior. Once the ship moved away from them they stopped attacking it.”

  “So what have we got here?” Archer mused aloud. “The comet impact disturbs the stream of organics falling into the ocean. The leviathan herd moves off to find a new feeding area. And the sharks come together in the biggest grouping we’ve ever observed.”

  “And drive away our vessel,” the biologist added. “Territorial behavior, pure and simple.”

  “I don’t know if it’s pure or simple,” Archer countered, with a placating smile, “but it’s definitely behavior we’ve never observed before.”

  “The leviathans also exhibited new behavior,” Johansen pointed out. The screen showed one of the gigantic creatures swimming away from the rest of the herd, going off alone. The sharks immediately darted after it.

  Then the screen went blank.

  “What happened?” Westfall asked. “What did they do?”

  “We don’t know,” said Archer. “That’s the point where Faraday left the area and returned here.”

  “As programmed,” Yeager said.

  “It’s too bad the ship was programmed to leave when it did,” Johansen said, looking at Archer rather than Max. “Just when things were getting interesting.”

  Archer nodded. Glancing at Westfall, he said, “This clearly shows the limit of robotic missions. If there had been a crew aboard the ship they would have stayed to observe these new behaviors. They wouldn’t have left because of a preprogrammed schedule.”

  “If they had enough supplies on board to remain,” Westfall countered.

  “Yes, of course,” Archer agreed. “But the point is, there’s a limit to what we can accomplish with robotic missions. We need to get people down into that ocean again. We need crewed missions.”

  Everyone around the table looked toward Westfall. She sat in silence for several long moments, apparently deep in thought. Archer saw the tip of her tongue peek out from between her barely parted lips.

  Calmly, deliberately, Archer said to her, “If we’re going to learn more about the leviathans, if we’re ever going to find out if they’re intelligent and perhaps make meaningful contact with them, we’ve got to send crewed missions down there.”

  “In spite of the dangers,” Westfall murmured.

  “In spite of the dangers,” Archer confirmed. “The crews will be volunteers, of course. They’ll all know the risks they’re running.”

  Yeager spoke up again. “I think this mission proved that Faraday is a tough bird. A crew will be safe with her.”

  “As safe as possible,” one of the scientists muttered.

  “Safe,” Yeager said flatly.

  Westfall heaved an almost theatrical sigh. “I see,” she said. “I understand.”

  “Then you won’t oppose a crewed mission?” Archer asked, his face alight with hope.

  With some reluctance, Westfall said softly, “No, I won’t oppose a crewed mission. I still think it’s terribly risky, but I suppose I’ll have to stand aside and let you try it.”

  A burst of grateful relief gusted from the scientists around the table. Westfall smiled at them, thinking, Give them enough rope and they’ll hang themselves.

  GRANT ARCHER’S OFFICE

  Deirdre felt a jumble of emotions as she entered Dr. Archer’s office. She had deliberately come ten minutes early for the meeting, hoping to have some time to speak with the station director alone, but Archer was already deep in earnest conversation with a dark-skinned, very serious-looking man whose image was displayed on one of the office’s wall screens. The data bar beneath his image read: DR. ZAREB MUZOREWA, UNIVERSITY OF SELENE.

  Muzorewa had been director of the station before Dr. Archer, Deirdre knew.

  Archer noticed her as Deirdre slid his office door back and waved her to a chair while the man on the wall screen was saying:

  “It’s true, Grant, she told the chairman of the council that she’s withdrawing her objection to a crewed mission.”

  As she silently took a seat next to Archer, Deirdre could see that the station director was practically glowing with satisfaction. “That’s great, Zeb,” he said to the screen. “It’s a big load off my mind. We can go ahead now without any worries.”

  Muzorewa’s expression remained stony. “Don’t get too happy about it, my friend. She repeated her concerns about the safety risks of the mission, but said you assured her the vehicle was safe and the crew would be volunteers.”

  “That’s right,” said Archer. “It’s true.”

  “And the way she worded her message, she’s withdrawing her objection—reluctantly—only for this one mission.”

  Archer waved a hand in the air. “That’s good enough, Zeb. Once we get a crewed mission in and back safely we’ll have proved that crews can go down again.”

  “On the other hand,” Muzorewa said slowly, choosing his words with obvious care, “if anything goes wrong with your crewed mission, it could spell the end of everything.”

  “Then we’ll have to make certain that nothing goes wrong,” Archer said.

  Muzorewa’s flinty expression eased slightly into a tentative smile. “If you can do that, you should be running the universe. Something will go wrong, Grant. It always does. You know that.”

  Archer admitte
d it with a nod. “I meant that we’ll have to make sure that nothing major goes wrong.”

  Muzorewa nodded back. “Perhaps you should try the power of prayer.”

  “Prayer never hurts.”

  “Put your trust in the Lord. And keep your powder dry.”

  Deirdre recognized the quote: Oliver Cromwell, from seventeenth-century England.

  Archer laughed. “Good advice.”

  “Good luck, then,” said Muzorewa.

  “Thanks, Zeb.”

  The wall screen went blank.

  Turning to Deirdre, Archer explained, “Zeb was my mentor when I first came to this station. He’s been a good and firm friend all these years.”

  “I see,” Deirdre said. Suddenly she realized, “But how can you talk with him in real time if he’s in Selene? The Moon’s at least half an hour away, in light time.”

  “He’s not in Selene,” Archer explained. “Zeb’s right here at the station, down in the third wheel. He just arrived less than an hour ago. He’s carrying your nanomachines.”

  Still bewildered, she asked, “He got here from Selene in a week?”

  “High-g boost. We know you need the nanotherapy as quickly as possible, so Zeb volunteered to zip out here with your nanos.”

  “You asked him to?”

  “I didn’t have to,” Archer replied. “I simply explained the problem to him and he volunteered. Brought a couple of nanotechs with him. They developed your therapeutic nanos on the way here.”

  Deirdre felt overwhelmed. “They did this for me?”

  His smile widening, Archer said, “Frankly, I think Zeb was happy to have an excuse to get back here. He’s as curious about the leviathans as I am. He’s the one who turned Dr. Corvus on to the problem of communicating with them.”

  “I’d like to thank him,” Deirdre said.

  “Tomorrow. Right now Zeb and his two technicians are in the infirmary in the third wheel, being checked out after their high-g trip: hernias, heart arrhythmias, that sort of thing. Also, I’m not sure that I want Mrs. Westfall to know that they’re here.”