by Ben Bova
“Of course,” said Tray, but he was thinking that limits of understanding apply to both sides of a conversation.
Rihanna went on to explain that their submersible’s crew would consist of only one person.
“This vessel’s systems are highly automated, of course. Your crewman will be actually a human backup to the ship’s inbuilt systems.”
“Only one person,” Tray echoed. “Is that wise?”
“Of course it is!” Rihanna snapped. “Captain Tsavo knows what he’s doing.”
“I didn’t mean to imply that he didn’t.”
“Once you go down into the ocean you’ll be cut off from contact with Jove’s Messenger. You’ll be on your own. The responsibilities of your captain will be enormous.”
Too much for one person? Tray asked himself. But he didn’t say it aloud.
FAMILY GATHERING
The three of them spent most of the day in the excursion module. Rihanna talked them through the control system and, more important to Tray, the sensors that would show them the Leviathans in their natural habitat.
For the first time, Tray realized that they would be seeing what the sensors showed, not directly viewing the Leviathans as they swam through Jupiter’s all-encompassing ocean. He felt disappointed, but realized that this was the best that modern technology could offer.
It was late afternoon by the time they returned to Tray’s coffin-sized quarters. Rihanna bid them a cheery good-bye with a reminder, “Dinner’s at nineteen hundred hours, sharp. Captain Tsavo won’t wait for you if you’re late.”
“Where’s the galley?” Tray asked.
Her pleasant expression dimming only slightly, Rihanna answered, “Where I showed you yesterday: one deck above this one, turn right, end of the passageway.”
Nodding, Tray said, “Oh yes, I remember now. We’ve seen so much the past few days, it’s all kind of a jumble.”
Rihanna’s smile returned to full wattage. “You’ll figure it all out in a day or so. Anyway, I’m sure your android can show you the way.”
Para said nothing. Rihanna left the tiny chamber and Tray closed the hatch behind her.
Turning to Para, Tray said, “That was kind of exhausting.”
“Would you care to take a nap?” Para asked. “I can wake you when Councilman Kell and the others arrive.”
“That’s right, they’re coming aboard today,” Tray recalled. He thought it over for an eyeblink and decided, “Thanks. I think I will stretch out for a little bit.”
He went to the narrow bunk that took up most of the cabin’s space.
“Wake me when Mr. Kell and the others arrive,” he said to Para. Then he added, “Please.”
“Of course,” said the android.
The others, Tray thought as he stretched out on the bunk. That includes Loris. Smiling to himself, he turned over on his side and closed his eyes.
* * *
Tray fought his way out of the dream. He was aboard the scoutship in the Raman system again, watching the flash of light and the expanding sphere of debris that had been the Saviour moments earlier.
Para was gently shaking his shoulder. Tray opened his eyes. “Wha…?”
“President Balsam has arrived,” Para said gently. “Together with Councilman Kell, Dr. Bricknell, and Lady De Mayne.”
Tray pushed himself up to a sitting position, blinking the sleep away. Then he asked, “Lady De Mayne?”
“Her father is a hereditary nobleman.”
“Hereditary nobleman? In this day and age?”
“The family is Norman. They keep their ancient traditions.”
“Lady De Mayne,” Tray muttered as he got up from the bunk.
* * *
Leaving Para standing by the narrow bunk, Tray washed, dressed, and hurried to the ship’s galley. Up one level and to the right.
By the time he got there, Balsam, Kell, Bricknell, and Loris were already in the galley, which was a cramped self-service cafeteria with a single long table that could seat ten people. Harold Balsam stood nearly a full head taller than the others, dominating the scene, speaking in an overly loud voice.
“This ship is the finest that money can buy,” he was saying, jabbing a forefinger against Jordan Kell’s chest. “The European Consortium of Universities oversaw its design. You can’t get better than the CoU.”
Kell, smaller, leaner, much more elegant than Balsam, nodded patiently. Mance Bricknell stood next to him, with Loris De Mayne at his other side.
Loris.
She was wearing a simple one-piece jumpsuit, dark gray, but it clung to her slim figure like a famished lover. Tray had to try three times before he could say hello to her.
“Hello yourself,” she replied with a smile.
He grinned back at her. It was difficult to say much because Balsam was rambling along.
“In the old days,” the council president was declaiming, “people had to immerse themselves in perfluorocarbon liquid or some such to equalize the pressure. Sank themselves into the gunk, filled their lungs with it, and actually breathed it. That was the only way to withstand the pressures of deep dives into the ocean.”
Kell nodded minimally. “But we don’t need to do that anymore.”
“That’s right, Jordan. Modern technology has solved the problems of high-pressure survival.”
Smiling tightly, Kell murmured, “Most of the problems.”
Balsam looked puzzled for a moment, then recovered and broke into a toothy grin. He wrapped a beefy arm around Kell’s shoulders and with his free hand gestured to the dining table. “Come on, let’s eat.”
“You’re not waiting for Captain Tsavo?”
“He’ll be along, sooner or later,” Balsam said.
The five of them lined up at the dispensers, Tray at the end, directly behind Loris.
“I’m glad you decided to come along,” he said to her, keeping his voice low.
Half-turning toward him, she replied, “I am, too. I’m looking forward to seeing the Leviathans.”
Bricknell, standing ahead of Loris, spoke up. “They live so deep in the ocean that we can’t observe them normally. We have to send submarines down to their level.”
“It’s their ocean, after all,” Loris said.
“They don’t own it,” snapped Bricknell.
Tray heard himself reply, “Don’t they?”
“Not legally.”
From the front of their impromptu line, second only to Balsam, Jordan Kell said, “The Council has ruled that the natives of an ecosphere have first rights of ownership to their domain.”
“Oh, that’s just political babble,” Bricknell countered. “Those Leviathans don’t use their ocean for anything.”
“They live in it,” Kell said mildly.
“But they don’t use it,” Bricknell insisted. “They don’t develop the resources.”
Loris spoke up, “Like the way we’re mining Jupiter’s upper atmosphere for fusion fuels.”
“Exactly,” said Bricknell.
“Without asking the Leviathans’ permission,” Kell pointed out.
Shaking his head, Bricknell countered, “They wouldn’t know what we’re talking about. They have no concept of anything except the ocean they live in.”
Tray wanted to argue with Bricknell, but realized he really didn’t have anything to say. Keep your mouth shut, he told himself. He remembered an old aphorism: Better to be silent and thought a fool than to open your mouth and prove it.
But the budding debate was suddenly ended by Captain Tsavo’s entrance into the dining room.
CAPTAIN TSAVO
“Sorry I’m late,” came a booming basso profundo voice from the galley’s entrance.
Tray and the others turned. Captain Tsavo stood framed in the hatchway, a half-dozen centimeters taller than its curved frame. A bright smile in his dark face, he ducked through the hatch and strode to Tray’s side, picking up a serving tray with a smooth easy motion.
“I had to resolve a slight diff
erence of opinion between my first mate and the chief engineer,” Tsavo explained. With a sigh, he went on, “The duties of command come before dinner, I’m afraid.”
Tray had to crane his neck to look into the captain’s face. Tsavo’s skin was a smooth unglossy black, the darkest complexion Tray had ever seen on anyone. More than two meters tall, Tsavo was sleekly slender, with long slim arms and legs. He was in uniform, an impeccably spotless light blue outfit that accentuated his height and lean physique.
Kell stepped out of line and came up to the captain. Barely as tall as Tsavo’s shoulder, he put out his hand.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”
Tsavo’s smile could have lit up a whole village. “And I am very pleased to meet you, at last, Councilman Kell.”
Balsam put down his tray and also hustled to be at Tsavo’s side. With a wide grin he grabbed the captain’s hand and said, “It’s good to see you again, sir.”
His own grin still in place, Tsavo pumped Balsam’s hand. “How do you like your ship?” he asked.
“Haven’t had a chance to go through it all yet,” Balsam answered, “but what I’ve seen of the crew looks top rate.”
“They’re all good people,” said Tsavo. “The cream of the crop.”
His beefy face grinning, Balsam said, “For what I’m paying, I expected nothing less.”
MISSION PLAN
The six of them sat at the galley’s lone table and listened to Tsavo explaining the fundamentals of the ship’s systems while they ate.
“Jove’s Messenger is built to take you down to within five hundred kilometers of the surface of Jupiter’s ocean,” the captain told them. “There we’ll detach the excursion module and you will enter the sea.”
“Who’ll be piloting the module?” Kell asked.
“One of my brightest young officers,” said Tsavo. “Gyele Sheshardi. From Australia. Very competent. Cool head, heart of gold.”
“I’ve met him,” Balsam said, from across the table. “Isn’t he kind of young to be in command?”
“It’s his first command opportunity, true enough,” Tsavo replied. “I’m fully satisfied that he can handle the task of commanding the excursion module. Does that give you an idea of what I think of him?”
“Well, yes, I suppose so…”
“I trust young Gyele implicitly,” said the captain. “He’ll be fine.”
An awkward silence settled on the diners. Until Loris spoke up.
“The excursion module needs a name,” she said. “I don’t think we should go into the ocean in a vessel that hasn’t a name of its own.”
“By god, you’re right,” said Balsam.
“A name,” Bricknell agreed.
“How about one of Jupiter’s children?” Balsam suggested.
With an ironic smile, Kell pointed out, “Jove had hundreds of children, if you accept all the old myths.”
“Why do we have to name it after a figure from mythology?” Loris asked. “Why not an actual person, out of real history?”
“Like who?” Bricknell asked.
“A great scientist, like Hawking.”
“English,” Bricknell sneered.
“Da Vinci?” Kell suggested.
“How about Edison?” asked Balsam. “Or … what’s his name, the one who invented the first submarine.”
“Fulton?”
“No, Bushnell,” Kell replied.
“Never heard of him,” Balsam said, shaking his head.
Kell shrugged and reached for his coffee cup.
“Why not Juno, then?” Loris suggested.
“Jupiter’s wife?”
“Queen of the heavens,” said Loris.
“I thought you wanted to get away from mythology,” Balsam objected.
“Not necessarily,” Loris replied.
Tray spoke up. “What about the greatest explorer of ancient mythology: Odysseus.”
“Ulysses?” Balsam asked.
Before anyone else at the table could speak, Loris asked, “How about the goddess who protected and guided him?”
“Athena?”
“Athena,” said Loris.
Putting down his coffee cup, Kell said, “Athena was originally a warrior goddess. But over time she became a goddess of wisdom, protectress of the city named after her, Athens.”
“And of the craft of war,” Loris added, “not just bloodthirsty bashing.”
“You can look at Athena as a record of humankind’s evolving from savagery to civilization,” Kell went on.
“Athena,” Tray repeated. “A good choice for a protectress.”
“Any objections?”
Tray looked around the dining table. Bricknell seemed to want to say something, but he held his tongue. Balsam didn’t look too pleased either, but he too kept silent.
“Athena it is, then,” said Kell. “By unanimous vote.”
Tray smiled inwardly at how Kell had taken command of the debate. He’s a leader, Tray said to himself. No wonder Balsam worries about him.
* * *
Once nothing was left of their dinner except crumbs and empty cups and glasses, Captain Tsavo raised his voice: “I think this would be a good time for you to meet Gyele Sheshardi.”
“Our lone crewman,” Balsam said, in a half whisper.
Tsavo got up from his chair as the hatch to the galley opened and a young man stepped in.
The galley fell absolutely silent.
Standing in the open hatchway was a young man, little more than a meter and a half tall. His skin was dead gray, his body stocky but his arms and legs childishly thin. His brows seemed slightly heavier than normal and his face showed his Negroid heritage. Like Tsavo, he wore a light blue uniform, but Tray thought he looked almost like a child playing make-believe.
An Aboriginal, Tray realized. An Australian Aboriginal.
“Meet Lieutenant Gyele Sheshardi,” said Captain Tsavo, in his deep, rumbling voice. He began to introduce the others, starting with Balsam.
Sheshardi’s smile seemed forced, Tray thought, as he went around the table shaking hands with the others. From the rigid rictus of his smile and the stiffness of his body language, Tray figured that the young man would rather be on the edge of hell than here among them. When he came to Tray his extended hand was trembling noticeably.
The introductions finished, Tsavo told Sheshardi to sit next to Tray.
“Have you had your dinner, Gyele?” the captain asked, his voice booming across the narrow galley.
Sheshardi’s baby-sized face bobbed up and down. “Oh, yes, sir. Hours ago.”
“Have some dessert with us, then.”
With a shy smile, Sheshardi answered, “Thank you, no. I am quite content.”
“Good,” said Tsavo. “Now tell us what they need to know about the excursion module.”
The Aboriginal visibly relaxed as he began to explain about the module’s various systems. He’s at home now, Tray realized. His size, his heritage, his fears and hopes for the future don’t matter now. He’s talking about the technology, and he knows his stuff.
Sheshardi went into exquisite detail about the excursion module’s sensors, its control system, the features of its privacy quarters and the individual entertainment systems that had been installed in each of them.
Turning to Tray, Sheshardi said, “Your billet has been equipped with a hand-sized recorder that can produce a full range of musical instrumentation, Mr. Williamson.”
Tray nodded his acknowledgment.
Balsam interrupted, “I’ll need to be able to receive messages from the Interplanetary Council’s staff, of course. There’s no time off for me, not even in Jupiter’s ocean.”
Sheshardi shook his head. “I’m afraid that will be impossible, sir. Once we are immersed in the ocean, all communications will be cut off.”
Balsam’s brows knit into a frown. “I didn’t realize … that is, no one told me that I’d be isolated…”
“The ocean blocks electromagnetic signals
very effectively,” Sheshardi explained. “Captain Tsavo, of course, will receive any messages that come in for you and have them waiting for you when you return, naturally.”
“Naturally,” Balsam huffed.
“Messages can be sent to the module in specialized capsules, can’t they?” Kell asked.
“If they are deemed important enough,” Sheshardi replied. “Of course, on occasion the capsules have been lost.”
“Important messages,” Loris murmured, “wandering through Jupiter’s boundless ocean.”
Tsavo changed the subject. To Sheshardi he revealed, “We have given the module its own name: Athena.”
Sheshardi’s dark face lit up. “The ancient Greek goddess of wisdom! An excellent choice.”
“Have it inscribed on the module’s hull, Gyele,” Tsavo said.
“Yes, sir. Right away.” The Abo fell silent for a moment. Transmitting the order, Tray comprehended.
Tsavo’s bloodshot eyes swept the table. “Any questions?” he asked.
Tray saw uncertainty in their eyes. A memory of his school days flashed in his mind: No one wants to be the first to speak.
Then Loris raised her hand slightly and asked, “How long will we be in the ocean?”
Tsavo turned to Sheshardi and nodded benignly. The youth replied, “That depends on the Leviathans, to a considerable extent. If they don’t mind our presence among them, we are equipped to stay in the ocean for fifty hours.”
Tray heard himself ask, “What happens if they do mind our presence?”
With a tight smile, Sheshardi answered, “Usually, they merely run away. It’s quite a sight, these monstrously huge creatures accelerating to top speed. They could leave our module quite alone and speed off.”
“Do they ever get aggressive?” Bricknell asked.
The Aborigine shook his head. “In all the years we have been observing and interacting with the Leviathans, there has not been one recorded incident of their behaving aggressively. They are very gentle giants.”
