by Ben Bova
“Yes, Captain!”
Twenty-eight minutes later Grant surveyed the relined plasma tube. Through his implanted chips he felt the ceramic lining as if he were caressing it, running his hands along its smooth length, still warm from the star-hot stream of ionized gas that had been flowing through it. Yes, he told himself, it’s the proper thickness and surface smoothness. All within the specifications. The liquid nitrogen coolant was refrigerating the superconducting coils on the other side of the tube. The coils were well below their critical temperature.
“Well?” Krebs demanded. “Are you finished?”
With a single small nod, Grant said, “Yes, Dr. Krebs.
Thruster number two is ready to go back on-line.”
“Good,” she said, and Grant realized that this would be as close to a pat on the back as he would ever get from this dour, hard-driven woman.
As the thrusters roared up to full power, Grant fought to pull his attention away from the impulses his chips were sending through his nervous system. It took an effort, but through clenched teeth he asked Muzorawa, standing next to him: “Have we lost them?”
The wallscreen showed nothing but empty darkness.
It took a moment for Zeb to reply. “They’ve moved off beyond our sensor range,” he answered, rubbing his eyes, “but if they are still following the organics, we should intercept them in about one hour.”
And if they’ve changed course we’ve probably lost them forever, Grant thought. And it will be my fault. At least Krebs will blame me for it.
Then he asked himself, Are there other herds in the ocean? There must be. There couldn’t be just one group of a few dozen of these creatures. There must be others of their kind… and other kinds of creatures in the sea, as well. We have a whole world to explore, a whole ecology, an ocean thousands of times bigger than Earth.
If the thrusters hold out, he reminded himself. They’re working fine now, but you’ve used up all the reserve ceramic. If anything goes wrong again, we either head back for the station or die here. There’s nothing left to repair them with. And we’re running them full-out. If one of them fails, we’re gone.
Grant glanced at Muzorawa, then at O’Hara and Karlstad, all at their consoles, all straining their senses to find the herd of Jovian whales. They’re not whales, Grant chided himself. They’re nothing like whales. They make whales look like minnows, for God’s sake.
None of the others seemed to know that the thrusters were in critical condition. Looking over his shoulder at Krebs, though, Grant felt that she knew. Those blind eyes notwithstanding, she knows that the thrusters are on the knife-edge of breakdown. And she doesn’t care. She’d rather die than give up this quest.
“I see one!” Muzorawa sang out. It reminded Grant of old stories about whalers, iron men in wooden ships, and their cry of “Thar she blows! ”
Everyone tried to tap into the sensor data at once. Grant got a sensation of a faint, trembling touch along his arms, as if someone were stroking his skin, gently, very gently.
“Give me visual imagery,” Krebs snapped.
“It’s too far off for anything but sonar right now,” Zeb replied.
“Let me see it!” Krebs demanded.
“In a few minutes,” Muzorawa said. “Ah! It’s lighting up the water! Can you see the glow?”
Grant saw a faint deep red shimmering in the otherwise black visual imagery.
“It seems to be alone,” Muzorawa said, sounding puzzled. “I can’t detect any other creatures near it.”
O’Hara chimed in, “It’s not on the same course that the herd should be following. And it’s moving at much greater speed.”
“It’s an intercept course,” Krebs said. “But it’s coming from a different direction than we are.”
“I’m starting to get visual imagery,” Muzorawa said.
“Yes, I see,” said Krebs.
“It’s alone,” Karlstad said.
“Yes,” Muzorawa agreed. Then: “No, I don’t think it is—there are others coming with it. Two… six … ten and more! They’re smaller, though. Different in shape.”
Grant saw them, faint and fuzzy at this distance. But the scene made a dreadful kind of sense to him.
“They’re chasing him!” Grant yelped. “The smaller ones are chasing the big one.”
“The smaller ones are five times the size of this ship,” Karlstad pointed out.
“Predators,” said Krebs. “Archer is right. They are chasing the whale. We’re seeing a hunt in progress.”
“What can we do?” O’Hara asked.
“Get closer,” Krebs snapped.
“Closer?”
“Yes! Before it runs away from us.”
The thrusters were running at full power, straining to cut across the Jovian’s path and close the gap between them. Grant felt as if he were running a marathon; every muscle in his body ached.
“It’s going too fast,” O’Hara shouted. “We’ll never catch up with it.”
Tapping into the sensor net, Grant saw the mammoth Jovian streaking through the depths, pursued by the ten smaller beasts.
“Get closer!” Krebs demanded. “Muzorawa, are the sensors getting all this?”
Zeb did not reply immediately.
“Muzorawa!”
“Yes, Captain,” Zeb said, his voice shaking. “The sensors … I…”
Grant pulled out of the sensor imagery and turned toward Zeb. Muzorawa just stood blankly at his console, his legs bent slightly at the knees, his feet held down by the floor loops, his arms floating chest-high, his head lolling to one side.
“I… can’t… breathe …” he gasped. “Pressure …”
“We’re too deep!” Karlstad yelled.
“What’s wrong with him?” Krebs demanded.
Karlstad stared frantically at his console. Grant could see a string of baleful red lights glowering along its screens. “His breathing rate’s gone sky-high. Something wrong with his lungs. Capacity is down, still sinking—”
“Archer,” Krebs ordered, “disengage Dr. Muzorawa and get him back to his berth.”
Grant quickly began to yank the optic fibers loose from Zeb’s legs.
“I’m sorry …” Muzorawa panted. “Too much … can’t…”
“Don’t talk,” Grant said, trying to sound soothing. “Save your strength.”
Muzorawa’s eyes closed. His head rolled slightly, then slumped down, chin on chest. He’s unconscious, Grant realized. Or dead.
“You’re the life-support specialist,” Krebs was snarling at Karlstad. “What should we do?”
“Get the hell out of this pressure!” Egon snapped.
“No!” she shot back. “Not yet. Not now, with those animals so close.”
“You’ll kill him!” Karlstad insisted. “You’ll kill us all!”
Turning back toward Grant, Krebs said, “Take him back to his berth. Lower the pressure in the chamber there.”
Feeling helpless, confused, Grant began to ask, “How do I lower—”
Krebs said, “Seal the hatch once you get him into his berth. I’ll take care of depressurizing.”
“You can’t depressurize it enough to help him,” Karlstad wailed. “Not unless we go back up toward the surface.”
Krebs turned toward him, looking as if she were ready to commit murder.
“I make the decisions here,” she said to Karlstad, her voice venomously low. Turning back to Grant: “Get him back to his berth! Now!”
“Yes’m.” Grant began pulling his own optical fibers free.
Suddenly the ship lurched as if it had been hit by a torpedo. Grant was torn loose from his foot restraints and went sailing across the bridge, optic fibers popping loose. He banged painfully against the far bulkhead as all the lights went out.
ATTACK
The emergency lamps came on, dim, scary. Grant blinked in the shadowy lighting. Everything looked tilted, askew. Then he realized that he was floating sideways next to the food dispenser, his right
shoulder and side afire with pain. Red lights blinked demandingly on all the consoles.
“… back on-line!” Krebs was shouting. “The auxiliaries can’t power the thrusters for more than a few minutes.”
Muzorawa was floating in the middle of the bridge, a haze of blood leaking from his open mouth. Krebs bumped into him and pushed him aside, in the general direction of the sleeping quarters. O’Hara was at her console, but doubled over as if in overwhelming pain. Only Karlstad seemed to be unhurt, but he looked bewildered as Krebs rattled off commands rapid-fire.
“Get back to your console,” she said to Grant, grabbing him by the scruff of his neck and shoving him toward the console. Grant’s shoulder and ribs were thundering with pain. I must have hit the bulkhead there, he realized.
“What happened?” he asked dazedly as he fumbled with his optical fibers.
“No time for linking,” Krebs snapped. “Go to manual control. Get the generator back on-line.”
“But Zeb—”
“There’s nothing you can do for him now. Get the generator back on-line!”
Grant saw that the same floor loop that had torn loose earlier was flapping again, held only by one remaining bolt. He slid his foot into the other and scanned the glowering red lights of his console.
“O’Hara!” Krebs barked. “Disengage and take care of Dr. Muzorawa.”
Lane looked sick, positively green in the eerie light of the emergency lamps. She nodded and began pulling off her optical fibers.
“I’ll handle the ship,” Krebs went on. “Karlstad, take over the sensors. Archer, why isn’t the generator back online?”
“I’m working on it,” Grant said, fingers racing across the console touchscreens.
The bridge seemed to be rising and sinking, twisting as if on a roller-coaster ride. Glancing to his right, Grant saw Krebs at O’Hara’s console, moving her fingers along the touchscreens, her mouth a thin, grim, bloodless line.
The ship lurched again, and this time Grant heard a definite thump, as if they had banged into an undersea mountain.
“Those sharks are attacking us,” Krebs said, her voice strangely low, controlled. “They think we are food.”
Karlstad screeched, “The hull can’t take this kind of pounding! It’ll crack!”
“I am trying to get away from them,” Krebs agreed. Turning to Grant she bellowed, “For that, we need power!”
“It’s not the generator,” Grant reported. “The generator’s working fine. It’s the power bus; it shorted out from the first concussion.”
Another thump. The bridge tilted crazily. Even the emergency lamps blinked.
Hanging onto one of the console’s handgrips, Grant worked madly to reboot the power bus. One by one the circuit breakers clicked on. One by one the red lights on his console flicked to amber or green. The thrusters came back on-line, although Grant saw that their telltale lights were amber. There must be a lot of damage, he thought. Maybe the tubes have been dented by the sharks. He wished he had time to link with the ship, then he’d know immediately what was wrong.
“Here comes another one!” Karlstad yelped.
“Thrusters to max!” Krebs said. She didn’t need Grant to turn them on, she did it herself from O’Hara’s console.
Even immersed in the thick liquid that filled the bridge Grant felt the surge of thrust. Another thump, but this time it was a glancing blow. Still, it set the ship spinning.
“I don’t know how long the thrusters can maintain full power,” Grant yelled.
“We have to get away from them,” Karlstad shouted back.
Krebs shook her head. “They’re faster than we are. They’re racing ahead of us.”
“If only we had a weapon,” Karlstad muttered, “something to defend ourselves with.”
Grant heard himself say, “What about the plasma exhaust?”
“What?”
“The exhaust from the thrusters. It’s over ten thousand degrees when it leaves the nozzles. It boils the water behind us. They mustn’t like that.”
Krebs seemed to think it over for a moment. “If they stayed behind us…”
“They’re not,” Karlstad said, his closed eyes seeing what the ship’s sensors showed. “They’re forming up in front of us again.”
“We’re moving at top speed and they race past us,” said Krebs, sounding defeated.
“They’re too fucking stupid to realize we’re not food,” Karlstad grumbled.
“By the time they discover that fact, we will be dead.”
Grant said, “Can’t we spin the ship? Or turn in a tight circle? Spray our exhaust in all directions?”
“What good would that do?”
“It might discourage them.”
Karlstad laughed bitterly. “Brilliant! You want to circle the wagons when we only have one wagon. Absolutely brilliant.”
“It’s worth a try,” Grant urged.
“We have nothing else,” said Krebs. “We have nothing to lose.”
With the power back on, Grant grabbed for the loose optical fibers and slapped them onto the chips in his legs. Pain! Sharp, hard needles of pain jabbed at him. The thrusters were running full-out but they were damaged, their tubes dented from the battering by the sharks.
At least the sharks were not attacking now. Krebs was turning the sub in tight circles, spinning a helix of superheated steam around them, keeping the predators at bay.
For how long? Grant asked himself. He knew the answer: Until the thrusters give out. Then it won’t matter if they renew their attacks or not; it won’t matter if they think we’re food or not. We’ll be dead, drifting in this alien ocean, without the power to climb back to the surface and leave. We’ll sink until this eggshell is crushed by the pressure. We’ll die here.
LEVIATHAN
Leviathan could scarcely believe what its sensing members were telling it. The Darters had broken off their pursuit to chase—Leviathan did not know what to call the tiny round, flat thing that had caught the Darters’ hungry attention. It was unlike anything the Kin had seen before, except for the tale that had been flashed among them about a strange cold alien that had appeared briefly and then vanished into the abyss above.
Leviathan remembered sensing something like this stranger, when it had been in the barren cold region on the other side of the eternal storm. It was not one of the Kin, not even a member unit that had broken away to bud.
Whatever it was, the Darters were swarming around it and the stranger—whatever it was—was spinning madly, squirting hot jets of steam that boiled the sea into wild bubbling froth.
Where are the Kin? Leviathan wondered. How far from here could they be? Leviathan considered calling to them but feared that its distress signal would rekindle the Darters’ attention.
The Darters had forgotten about Leviathan in their blind hunger for this small, almost defenseless creature. The stranger was giving Leviathan a chance to race away, unnoticed by the instinct-driven Darters.
That would mean leaving the stranger to the predators. It did not seem able to get away from them. Every time it tried to climb higher, to head back toward the cold abyss above, the Darters drove it back down again. One of them came close to the hot steam and twisted away in agony, howling so loudly that Leviathan’s sound sensors shut down for several moments. Two of the Darters immediately attacked their wounded companion, silencing it forever with a few voracious bites.
But the others kept circling the stranger, holding it at bay, waiting for it to exhaust itself.
TRAPPED
“You’ve got to get higher!” Karlstad demanded, his voice almost a hysterical shriek. “We’ve got to get away from them!”
Krebs shot him a venomous glance. “Every time I try to lift, they swarm above me and batter us down again.”
“We can’t take much more pounding,” Karlstad said. “Hull integrity…”
Grant was awash with pain. His console lights were flickering from amber to red. The thrusters were close to fa
ilure and there was nothing he could do about it.
Krebs seemed to be fully aware of the situation. Grimly she muttered, “Full thruster power. We break loose from them or we die here and now.”
Vision blurring, his whole body spasming with agony, Grant felt the thrusters strain as he diverted all available power to them. The lights went out again as the bridge tilted dizzily, the emergency lamps glowed feebly. Grant reached for the handgrips on his console.
“Look out!” Karlstad screamed.
Something hit the ship with the power of an avalanche. If Grant hadn’t been hanging on he would have been flung across the bridge again. Krebs went sailing, banged against the food dispenser with a solid, sickening thud of flesh against metal. Karlstad was holding on to both his console’s handgrips, his feet torn free of the floor loops and flailing wildly.
“We’re sinking!” Karlstad yelled. “Hull’s been breached!”
Grant saw that Krebs was unconscious. Or dead. An ugly gash across her forehead was streaming a fog of blood into the fluid they were breathing. The optical fibers had been torn loose from her legs.
“What can we do?” Karlstad screeched. “What can we do?”
Grant tried to ignore his pain as he tapped at his console’s touchscreens, calling up all the ship’s systems. The sudden rush of information boggled his mind and body. Everything—every chip, every wire, every square centimeter of structure, all the sensors, the ship’s steering controls, the thrusters, the power generator, the auxiliaries, all the life-support systems, the medical monitors, the lights, the wiring, the welds along the hull—every molecule of the ship, every bit of data flowing through all its systems, all flooded in on Grant like a huge overpowering tidal wave. He was flung into a maelstrom, mind spinning madly as he desperately tried to cling to some vestige of himself, some trace of his own soul in this deluge of sensations, some thread of control.
He could no longer feel his own body. That reality had been flung aside, left far behind in this new reality of—power. That’s what it is, Grant told himself. Power. I am the ship. I have all its power, all its pain, all its destiny within me.
