Troy looked up. She didn’t dare say anything. Although it was obvious that people were having shared hallucinations, maybe he hadn’t seen this. Troy nodded at the glass.
“Looks like somebody’s attempt at an apology. Or peace offering, maybe?”
Where would Troy get something like a live flower? Maybe it was just an illusion, but his apology was real, wasn’t it?
She smiled and put a hand on his shoulder. “Apology accepted,” she said, somewhat triumphantly.
But Troy didn’t seem to have heard her. He was staring at his wristpad, looking confused. “Where are they?” he murmured.
(*)
Like so many things in nature, the rings of Saturn were beautiful and deadly. Four hundred thousand miles from inner to outer edge, the vast disk of ice and dust fanned out around the planet in a plain less than a hundred feet thick. To drop into any orbit around the golden giant, a ship must cross the plane of the rings, whether its ultimate destination was Enceladus or Titan or Phoebe or Saturn itself.
The spectral colors of the ring particles changed as the ship moved over the surface and as the debris shifted in the weightlessness. The floating pebbles and ice grains glimmered and sparkled in the sunlight. Thousand-mile-long tendrils of microscopic particles moved along lines of static electricity just above the ring plane, giving the appearance of the spokes of a wheel radiating away from the planet. To starboard, the tawny dome of Saturn covered half of the sky, its faint storms and bands painting the intimidating globe in subtle autumnal hues. Lieutenant Joshua Lyon had done this before, and he loved it. His copilot was not so enthused.
Jennings began to agitate as he looked out his porthole. The ship closed the distance, and the initial wonder brought by the rings shifted to something more akin to terror. Icebergs and stony boulders bobbed in fields of hail. If the ship went through the rings here it would be pulverized instantly.
“There, up ahead,” Lyon pointed through the cockpit window. In the tumbling rocks and sparkling sarsens ahead, a dark stripe was opening up. “Keeler Gap,” Lyons said confidently. “We just wing our way through there and loop on around to our appointment with Titan.”
“Doesn’t look like much room,” Jennings said nervously.
“Forty-two klicks across. Plenty of room.”
“And one little moon keeps it clear?”
The Lieutenant nodded. “Daphnis.” He keyed his microphone. “Okay team, stand by for final capture.” The 30-member crew tightened their shoulder straps and sealed their helmets—each marked with the bold letters SWAT—as the ship decelerated. The vast ring system spread before them like an infinite racetrack, concentric circles of glistening ice shimmering and undulating as gravity waves moved across them. Below them, the ship’s shadow grew larger as the rings flattened out. Subtle tans, yellows and grays inscribed what now looked like parallel lines vanishing at the horizon. In the distance, the battered moon Mimas peered above the rings, cut off exactly at midsection by the glowing plane. As their shadow came up to meet them, the black pathway of the Keeler Gap seemed to part the rings for them.
“A modern-day Red Sea,” Lyon said, tapping a joystick. He dived into the gap and headed for the other side. Jennings felt like he was riding a glass elevator, watching a thin floor pass. But as the rings swooped by and became a ceiling of grainy material above them, they came face to face with a large and well-armed ship.
“What the he—” The copilot’s voice cut off as the rear of the ship exploded.
“They don’t seem to like us,” Lyon said. “Team, we are under attack. I repeat, we are—”
A second jolt hit the port side. Jenning’s head slammed against the side of the cockpit. He seemed to be out cold. Lyon hit the ship’s automatic defense systems, but one side of the craft was badly damaged. “Burkette, up here now.”
Burkette pulled himself into the copilot’s seat, unceremoniously throwing Jennings into the back. Jennings ended up floating against the ceiling just above him. “Somebody knew we were coming.”
“Do ya think? We’re shot up pretty bad, but I’ve got lots of fuel and two good engines, so I’m changing trajectory.”
“To go where?”
He pointed up.
“Into the gap again?”
“Not a chance. We’re sitting ducks. I’m going to hide us in the rings.”
“In, sir?” Burkette looked at Lyon as if he had dachshunds crawling out of his ears.
Lyon held up a hand. “I know it’s a hail of bullets, but if we match speed with the ring debris, it may not be too bad. Otherwise, we’re done.”
Burkette looked at the screen. The ship was gaining on them. A small, nasty-looking missile sailed by, narrowly missing the end of the nose. “Sounds like a plan. I like this plan.”
They were still a couple kilometers away when they heard the barrage on the outer skin of the ship. It grew louder and stronger with each passing second.
Lyon squinted out the viewport. “If we can just make it a little further, and just a bit slower…”
A loud crash echoed somewhere below. An alarm sounded.
“We’ve been hit,” Burkette called out.
“Of course we’ve been hit,” Lyon growled over the din. “We’ve been hit millions of times. That’s why it’s so loud out there. It’s all just a matter of degree.” The ship bobbed, then steadied itself.
The wall of shining debris approached them in waves and shelves. Lyon hit the thrusters, slowing the ship, matching speed with the particles. He banked into the icy cloud-wall. Suddenly, there was silence. Beautiful silence. “Welcome to Saturn”s magnificent A Ring,” Lyon whispered. “Now we match the course of the ring particles and orbit Saturn here for a while. Just like following a race track, except that nobody can see us in here.”
Out the window, a tan fog enshrouded the ship. Ice crystals and small bits of rock drifted slowly by. Beams of sunlight filtered through the particles like sunbeams in a misty rain forest. Now and then a loud ping sounded somewhere in the ship, but with the engines off and the sense of weightlessness, the experience was almost soothing.
The crew had almost repaired their third engine when the other ship found them again. This time, they weren’t so lucky.
© Springer International Publishing Switzerland 2015
Michael CarrollOn the Shores of Titan's Farthest SeaScience and Fiction10.1007/978-3-319-17759-5_38
38. Shifting Allies
Michael Carroll1
(1)Littleton, CO, USA
Jaime was a tough cookie. This much Kinto knew. So when she burst through his door, he knew that some attention was in order. He remained reclining on his bed, his head against the wall, fingers laced behind his neck, eyes at half-mast. “What’s got you riled, woman?”
She slammed the door to his personal ‘quarters,’ which were nothing more than a bunk and washbasin. “There is news from Saturn. Did you hear?”
“Did they find ring number two bazillion?”
“Montenegro’s hotheads destroyed a SWAT ship from the Jovian system. Obliterated it. Probably no survivors.”
Kinto sat up. His expression clouded. “That seems unnecessary.”
“And unwise? How about reckless? Or even suicidal? We’ll have the entire system on our backs, just when we’re getting things set up.”
“The timing is not good. Why would a SWAT team be here, anyway?”
She raised her shoulders dramatically. “Montenegro knew they were coming. Vesta gave us the heads-up. But this? The guy has come unhinged. Said something about how we’re ‘building an empire’ and how ‘not all considerations are economic. Some are security-related.’ He asked for questions, and that guy from Europa, the guy with the respirator, questioned the necessity of killing the crew. You know what Montenegro said? ‘In the beginning, sacrifices must be made. Your high morals can come later.’”
Kinto was frowning in thought. “Perhaps now is a good time to be thinking about allegiances.”
“Altern
ate allegiances?”
“Exactly.”
“I think I’ll try to find Marv.”
“Be careful, Miss Jaime. He is a very loyal man.”
“Maybe it’s time he reevaluated.”
(*)
Abby walked the length of her little table and stopped across from Troy. “Tanya says there’s a part missing from the reactor, a part that got stolen. I think it’s with whoever is running the show on the north shore. Unless it’s right here somewhere.”
“It’s not here,” he said too quickly. Troy looked embarrassed. “I can tell. By the radiation signature.”
“Radiation signature. I didn’t know you were so well versed in those things.”
“That’s right.” Was his tone defensive? “I tracked it.”
“Did you take an online course while I wasn’t looking?” He didn’t say anything. “We’ve got to get it back.”
“She’s right,” came a voice from the door. Piers looked through. “Mind if I come in?”
Abby motioned for him to join them, as Troy spoke. His tone was casual, to the point of being apathetic.
“Look, guys, it’s a lost cause. It’s way up there somewhere.” He gestured in a northerly direction with a limp wrist. “We’ll never find it in time. The only thing left for us to do is evacuate.”
Abby turned on him. “Evacuate? How would we? We have one crippled rover and one that’s complete toast—parts still haven’t arrived from Titania base—and both rover busses are down thanks to that fire from the leak in the east section. Things can only get worse over there.”
Piers added, “Whoever did this timed it perfectly. Our next ship is an unpiloted supply, and the next people transport won’t be here for over a week.”
Abby took up where Piers left off. “And we do have one four-person rover that might make it as far as Kosovo/Taishan on a good week. But we haven’t been having good weeks lately, have we, Troy? So how would you propose to ‘evacuate’ everyone to safety? It’s a very long walk to civilization.”
Troy continued staring at his wristpad, its light illuminating his face in a ghostly blue glow.
Piers sat down next to him. “Troy, I think the only prudent thing to do is for Abby and myself to take a Zodiac out to the north coast and try to get the thing back.”
“I’m afraid we’re missing one of the inflatables; Brian’s crew took it to the far side of Mayda Insula, where the currents are stronger. They’re working on another wave machine. And the outboard on the second big one is damaged, perhaps irreparably. No one seems to know where our small boat even is.”
“That is too bad,” Piers said, “because that leaves us only one choice. We take your submersible.”
Troy’s head jerked away from his wristpad. “You’re insane. You can’t pilot that complex vehicle.”
“But I can,” Abby said. “You said so yourself. I’ve had plenty of on-the-job training. Remember?”
Troy let out a long breath and stretched dramatically. “Under normal circumstances, your plan would seem reasonable. But I’m afraid I’ve got that port engine all apart. It’s still overheating now and then. Under repair and all that.” He was frustratingly cavalier.
Abby leaned across the table and nearly touched her nose to his. Through clenched teeth, she said, “Then put it back together. Get it done. We need it. Now.”
Troy was silent. He buried his face in his hands, rubbed his eyes, and then massaged the back of his neck. Finally, he said, “I have a better idea. I have several good short-range handhelds on board ship. Piers, I’ll leave one with you so we can stay in radio contact. Apps, you and I will go find our missing part from whoever these scoundrels are. You can sail this thing in a pinch, but—”
“I know. It’s delicate.”
For the first time in the conversation, Troy smiled.
Abby noticed, with some relief, that Piers was looking at the flower on the table. “Nice rose, huh?” she said. “I have no idea how it got to an ice ball like this.”
Piers seemed to be studying the corner of the room with an odd tightness to his mouth. “Well, you know, a person can find beauty in the strangest of places.”
(*)
Piers had no idea how much time it took to prep a submersible, so he rushed. It was a long shot, but at least it represented some sort of backup plan. He had thought things out carefully. Mayda had a host of transportation choices, thanks to Titan’s benign environment for travel. Its dense atmosphere and low gravity left travelers a variety of options for long-distance mobility. Flying was the mode of choice, preferably with big wings. Mayda had no aircraft in the conventional sense, but they did have a nifty little two-person helicopter. Unfortunately, Mayda’s chopper was on loan to the high-altitude research station in the mountains of Xanadu. The place was a bitch to drive into, and the Chinese needed the aerial perspective for some of their research on drainage patterns. The Dutch staff down the mountain at Tortola Center often complained that the Chinese mountain scholars were overflying their airspace, which was odd since Tortola was surrounded by dunes and plains rather than mountains, but all that was none of Piers’ business.
Mayda also had access to the Brazilian Aerospace Conglomerate’s blimp, as large as the old Hindenburg, and more maneuverable. Its hydrogen-filled envelope posed no danger of burning, as the Hindenburg had, simply because there was no oxygen around to combine with the hydrogen. The dense atmosphere made it easy for the craft’s expansive, lazy propellers to push, providing the great airship with a slow-motion appearance as it plied the orange skies. No doubt about it: that would have been an excellent choice. But the International Southern Polar Survey was leasing it. The thing was probably floating somewhere over Ontario Lacus right now.
The jumper, with its rover-like treads, deployable pontoons, hover-turbines and stubby wings, was hopelessly mangled from the most recent crash. It was a great engineering concept, but the darn thing was just too unstable a design. So that left…
Rovers. The two vans had been badly scorched in the fire, and Piers doubted they had the range he needed anyway. Only one of the three standard rovers on site was functional. If they had any power, they could have charged a second one up; otherwise that one was just peachy. But there was just one that had a full charge, healthy fuel cells, and a good transmission. That was the one he was banking on.
Brian was at a table in the galley with two of his techies, trying to warm up before returning to work outside. Piers said, “How would you guys like to do something for crown and country?” They stared at the Brit with blank expressions. He tried speaking American, slowly. “Brian, there may be a way to save this place if a couple of your techs are willing to get moving right now, and if they’re up to a very long drive.”
Brian said, “I’m game if they are. Truthfully, we’re just not getting very far out there with what we have to work with. But it’s up to my trusty techs here.” He nodded at them quizzically.
One of Brian’s assistants—an attractive Hispanic woman on tour from the Callisto settlement—shrugged and looked at the other tech, a wrinkled, spindly man with graying hair. “Suits me,” the woman said. “Willy?”
“All I’m doing out at the wave generator is getting frustrated. Sure, I’ll go.”
Piers clapped his hands together. “Excellent. Grab food, enough for a week or so, and grab full supplies for four suits as well. Meet me at the south garage.”
Brian frowned. “Four suits? Two people?”
“Just trust me.”
© Springer International Publishing Switzerland 2015
Michael CarrollOn the Shores of Titan's Farthest SeaScience and Fiction10.1007/978-3-319-17759-5_39
39. The Hunchback of Mayda Insula
Michael Carroll1
(1)Littleton, CO, USA
Troy Fels hunched over the dashboard of the submersible like Quasimodo. His bloodshot eyes squinted into the distance, studying something Abby couldn’t see. His labored breathing whistled through gritted te
eth. Haloes of dark moisture ringed his sleeves and painted a stripe down his back. His hair did a fair impression of Einstein.
“You look like Captain Nemo,” Abby said. “Why don’t you relax? At least until we get there.” Troy kept his eyes ahead. His breathing quickened. Abby suspected something was up. “What are you so nervous about? What are you not telling me?”
He turned his head to her, smiling. The smile gave her the kind of chill that her cat did when it was about to pounce. “You don’t know everything. You think you’re so smart. But you don’t know who’s up there, do you?” He turned back to the controls and to the empty methane abyss ahead.
“What are you talking about? You’re just not making much sense.”
“So demanding, aren’t we?” He shook his head.
“Troy, who’s up there?”
His grin faded away. “How would I know something like that? You are so distrustful.”
The pitch of the engines dropped down the scale to silence.
Troy unstrapped. “Oops. There’s our little alarm again.” He made his way aft.
“I didn’t hear anything.”
He paused and held up his hand, as if training a dog. “You stay.”
Abby watched the darkness outside. Flotsam drifted by the windows, bobbing in the beams of the sub’s headlights. The cockpit leaned slightly left, then back to the right in a soothing rocking motion. A set of lights darkened on the console before her.
“Too bad,” Troy called, returning to his seat. “Looks like we lost a fuse or something.”
“A fuse? That’s ridiculous.” Abby jumped from her seat. “I’m pretty good at electrical stuff. Let me have a look.”
On the Shores of Titan's Farthest Sea Page 20
