There were several 'hear, hear's around the table before Floyd answered.
'Yes, I've been thinking along the same lines. I've already told Galaxy to watch out for any – let's say manifestations – in case he tries to make contact.'
'Of course,' said Yva, 'he may be dead by now – if ghosts can die.'
Not even Mihailovich had a suitable comment to this, but Yva obviously sensed that no-one thought much of her contribution.
Undeterred, she tried again.
'Woody, dear,' she said. 'Why don't you simply give him a call on the radio? That's what it's for, isn't it?'
The idea had occurred to Floyd, but it had somehow seemed too naïve to take seriously.
'I will,' he said. 'I don't suppose it will do any harm.'
42 – Minilith
This time, Floyd was quite sure he was dreaming...
He had never been able to sleep well in zero gravity, and Universe was now coasting, unpowered, at maximum velocity. In two days it would start almost a week of steady deceleration, throwing away its enormous excess speed until it was able to rendezvous with Europa.
However many times he adjusted the restraining straps, they always seemed either too tight or too loose. He would have difficulty in breathing – or else he would find himself drifting out of his bunk.
Once he had awoken in mid-air, and had flailed away for several minutes until, exhausted, he had managed to 'swim' the few metres to the nearest wall. Not until then had he remembered that he should merely have waited; the room ventilating system would have soon pulled him to the exhaust grille without any exertion on his part. As a seasoned space-traveller, he knew this perfectly well; his only excuse was simple panic.
But tonight, he had managed to get everything right; probably when weight returned, he would have difficulty in readjusting to that. He had lain awake for only a few minutes, recapitulating the latest discussion at dinner, and had then fallen asleep.
In his dreams, he had continued the conversation around the table. There had been a few trifling changes, which he accepted without surprise. Willis, for example, had grown his beard back – though on only one side of his face. This, Floyd presumed, was in aid of some research project, though he found it difficult to imagine its purpose.
In any event, he had his own worries. He was defending himself against the criticisms of Space Administrator Millson, who had somewhat surprisingly joined their little group. Floyd wondered how he had come aboard Universe (could he possibly have stowed away?). The fact that Millson had been dead for at least forty years seemed much less important.
'Heywood,' his old enemy was saying, 'the White House is most upset.'
'I can't imagine why.'
'That radio message you've just sent to Europa. Did it have State Department clearance?'
'I didn't think it was necessary. I merely asked permission to land.'
'Ah – but that's it. Who did you ask? Do we recognize the government concerned? I'm afraid it's all very irregular...
Millson faded away, still tut-tutting. I'm very glad this is only a dream, thought Floyd. Now what?
Well, I might have expected it. Hello, old friend. You come in all sizes, don't you? Of course, even TMA 1 couldn't have squeezed into my cabin – and its Big Brother could easily have swallowed Universe in one gulp.
The black monolith was standing – or floating – only two metres from his bunk. With an uncomfortable shock of recognition, Floyd realized that it was not only the same shape, but also the same size, as an ordinary tombstone. Although the resemblance had often been pointed out to him, until now the incongruity of scale had lessened the psychological impact. Now, for the first time, he felt the likeness was disquieting – even sinister. I know this is only a dream – but at my age, I don't want any reminders...
Anyway – what are you doing here? Do you bring a message from Dave Bowman? Are you Dave Bowman?
Well, I didn't really expect an answer; you weren't very talkative in the past, were you? But things always happened when you were around. Back in Tycho, sixty years ago, you sent that signal to Jupiter, to tell your makers that we'd dug you up. And look what you did to Jupiter, when we got there a dozen years later!
What are you up to now?
VI – HAVEN
43 – Salvage
The first task confronting Captain Laplace and his crew, once they had grown accustomed to being on terra firma, was to re-orient themselves. Everything on Galaxy was the wrong way round.
Spaceships are designed for two modes of operation – either no gravity at all, or, when the engines are thrusting, an up-and-down direction along the axis. But now Galaxy was lying almost horizontally, and all the floors had become walls. It was exactly as if they were trying to live in a lighthouse that had toppled on to its side; every single piece of furniture had to be moved, and at least fifty per cent of the equipment was not functioning properly.
Yet in some ways this was a blessing in disguise, and Captain Laplace made the most of it. The crew was so busy rearranging Galaxy's interior – giving priority to the plumbing – that he had few worries about morale. As long as the hull remained airtight, and the muon generators continued to supply power, they were in no immediate danger; they merely had to survive for twenty days, and salvation would come from the skies in the shape of Universe. No-one ever mentioned the possibility that the unknown powers that ruled Europa might object to a second landing. They had – as far as anyone knew – ignored the first; surely they could not interfere with a mission of mercy...
Europa itself, however, was now less cooperative. While Galaxy had been adrift on the open sea, it had been virtually unaffected by the quakes which continually racked the little world. But now that the ship had become an all too permanent land structure, it was shaken every few hours by seismic disturbances. Had it touched down in the normal vertical position, by now it would certainly have been overturned.
The quakes were unpleasant rather than dangerous, but they gave nightmares to anyone who had experienced Tokyo '33 or Los Angeles '45. It did not help much to know that they followed a completely predictable pattern, rising to a peak of violence and frequency every three and a half days when Io came swinging past on its inner orbit. Nor was it much consolation to know that Europa's own gravitational tides were inflicting at least equal damage on Io.
After six days of gruelling work, Captain Laplace was satisfied that Galaxy was as near shipshape as was possible in the circumstances. He declared a holiday – which most of the crew spent sleeping – and then drew up a schedule for their second week on the satellite.
The scientists, of course, wanted to explore the new world they had so unexpectedly entered. According to the radar maps that Ganymede had transmitted to them, the island was fifteen kilometres long and five wide; its maximum elevation was only a hundred metres – not high enough, someone had gloomily predicted, to avoid a really bad tsunami.
It was hard to imagine a more dismal and forbidding place; half a century of exposure to Europa's feeble winds and rains had done nothing to break up the pillow lava which covered half its surface, or to soften the outcropping of granite that protruded through the rivers of frozen rock. But it was their home now, and they had to find a name for it.
Gloomy, downbeat suggestions like Hades, Inferno, Hell, Purgatory... were firmly vetoed by the Captain; he wanted something cheerful. One surprising and quixotic tribute to a brave enemy was seriously considered before being rejected thirty-two to ten, with five abstentions: the island would not be called 'Roseland'..
In the end, 'Haven' won unanimously.
44 – Endurance
'History never repeats itself – but historical situations recur.'
As he made his daily report to Ganymede, Captain Laplace kept thinking of the phrase. It had been quoted by Margaret M'Bala – now approaching at almost a thousand kilometres every second – in a message of encouragement from Universe which he had been very happy to relay to his fellow castaw
ays.
'Please tell Miss M'Bala that her little history lesson was extremely good for morale; she couldn't have thought of anything better to send us.
'Despite the inconvenience of having our walls and floors switched around, we're living in luxury compared to those old polar explorers. Some of us had heard of Ernest Shackleton, but we had no idea of the Endurance saga. To have been trapped on ice floes for over a year – then to spend the Antarctic winter in a cave – then to cross a thousand kilometres of sea in an open boat and to climb a range of unmapped mountains to reach the nearest human settlement!
'And yet that was only the beginning. What we find incredible – and inspiring – is that Shackleton went back four times to rescue his men on that little island – and saved every one of them! You can guess what that story's done to our spirits – I hope you can fax this book to us in your next transmission – we're all anxious to read it.
'And what would he have thought of that! Yes, we're infinitely better off than any of those old-time explorers. It's almost impossible to believe that, until well into the last century, they were completely cut off from the rest of the human race, once they'd gone over the horizon. We should be ashamed at grumbling because light isn't fast enough and we can't talk to our friends in real time – or that it takes a couple of hours to get replies from Earth... They had no contact for months – almost years! Again, Miss M'Bala – our sincerest thanks.
'Of course, all Earth explorers did have one considerable advantage over us; at least they could breathe the air. Our science team has been clamouring to go outside, and we've modified four spacesuits for EVAs of up to six hours. At this atmospheric pressure they won't need full suits – a waist seal is good enough – and I'm allowing two men to go out at a time, as long as they stay within sight of the ship.
'Finally, here's today's weather report. Pressure two hundred and fifty bars, temperature steady at twenty-five degrees, wind gusting at up to thirty klicks from the west, usual hundred per cent overcast, quakes between one and three on open-ended Richter...
'You know, I never did like the sound of that "open-ended" – especially now that Io's coming into conjunction again.
45 – Mission
When people asked to see him together, it usually meant trouble, or at least some difficult decision. Captain Laplace had noticed that Floyd and van der Berg were spending a lot of time in earnest discussions, often with Second Officer Chang, and it was easy to guess what they were talking about. Yet their proposal still took him by surprise.
'You want to go to Mount Zeus! How – in an open boat? Has that Shackleton book gone to your head?'
Floyd looked slightly embarrassed; the Captain was right on target. South had been an inspiration, in more ways than one.
'Even if we could build a boat, Sir, it would take much too long... especially now that Universe looks like reaching us within ten days.'
'And I'm not sure,' added van der Berg, 'that I'd care to sail on this "Sea of Galilee"; not all its inhabitants may have got the message that we're inedible.'
'So that leaves only one alternative, doesn't it? I'm sceptical, but I'm willing to be convinced. Go on...
'We've discussed it with Mr Chang, and he confirms that it can be done. Mount Zeus is only three hundred kilometres away; the shuttle can fly there in less than an hour.'
'And find a place to land? As you doubtless recall, Mr Chang wasn't very successful with Galaxy.'
'No problem, Sir, The William Tsung's only a hundredth of our mass; even that ice could probably have supported it. We've been over the video records, and found a dozen good landing sites.'
'Besides,' said van der Berg, 'the pilot won't have a pistol pointed at him. That could help.'
'I'm sure it will. But the big problem is at this end. How are you going to get the shuttle out of its garage? Can you rig a crane? Even in this gravity, it would be quite a load.'
'No need to, Sir. Mr Chang can fly it out.'
There was a prolonged silence while Captain Laplace contemplated, obviously without much enthusiasm, the idea of rocket motors firing inside his ship. The small shuttle William Tsung, more familiarly known as Bill Tee, was designed purely for orbital operations; normally, it would be pushed gently out of its 'garage', and the engines would not operate until it was well away from the mother ship.
'Obviously you've worked all this out,' said the Captain grudgingly, 'but what about the angle of take-off? Don't tell me you want to roll Galaxy over so that Bill Tee can pop straight up? The garage is half-way down one side; lucky it wasn't underneath when we grounded.'
'The take-off will have to be at sixty degrees to the horizontal; the lateral thrusters can handle it.'
'If Mr Chang says so, I'll certainly believe him. But what will the firing do to the ship?'
'Well, it will wreck the garage interior – but it will never be used again, anyway. And the bulkheads are designed for accidental explosions, so there's no danger of damage to the rest of the ship. We'll have fire-fighting crews standing by, just in case.'
It was a brilliant concept – no doubt of that. If it worked, the mission would not be a total failure. During the last week, Captain Laplace had given scarcely a moment's thought to the mystery of Mount Zeus, which had brought them to this predicament: only survival had mattered. But now there was hope, and leisure to think ahead. It would be worth taking some risks, to find why this little world was the focus of so much intrigue.
46 – Shuttle
'Speaking from memory,' said Dr Anderson, 'Goddard's first rocket flew about fifty metres. I wonder if Mr Chang will beat that record?'
'He'd better – or we'll all be in trouble.'
Most of the science team had gathered in the observation lounge, and everyone was staring anxiously back along the hull of the ship. Although the entrance of the 'garage' was not visible from this angle, they would see the Bill Tee soon enough, when – and if – it emerged.
There was no countdown; Chang was taking his time, making every possible check – and would fire when he felt like it. The shuttle had been stripped down to its minimum mass, and was carrying just enough propellant for one hundred seconds of flight. If everything worked, that would be ample; if it didn't, more would not only be superfluous, but dangerous.
'Here we go,' said Chang casually.
It was almost like a conjuring trick; everything happened so quickly that the eye was deceived. No one saw Bill Tee pop out of the garage, because it was hidden in a cloud of steam. When the cloud had cleared, the shuttle was already landing, two hundred metres away.
A great cheer of relief echoed through the lounge.
'He did it!' cried ex-Acting Captain Lee. 'He's broken Goddard's record – easily!'
Standing on its four stubby legs in the bleak Europan landscape, Bill Tee looked like a larger and even less elegant version of an Apollo lunar module. That was not, however, the thought that occurred to Captain Laplace, as he looked out from the bridge. It seemed to him that his ship was rather like a stranded whale, that had managed a difficult birth in an alien element. He hoped that the new calf would survive.
Forty-eight very busy hours later, the William Tsung was loaded, checked out on a ten-kilometre circuit over the island – and ready to go. There was still plenty of time for the mission; by the most optimistic reckoning, Universe could not arrive for another three days, and the trip to Mount Zeus, even allowing for the deployment of Dr van der Berg's extensive array of instruments, would take only six hours.
As soon as Second Officer Chang had landed, Captain Laplace called him to his cabin. The Skipper looked, thought Chang, somewhat ill at ease.
'Good work, Walter – but of course that's only what we expect.'
'Thanks, Sir, So what's the problem?'
The Captain smiled. A well-integrated crew could keep no secrets.
'Head Office, as usual. I hate to disappoint you, but I've had orders that only Dr van der Berg and Second Officer Floyd are to make the trip.
'
'I get the picture,' Chang answered, with a trace of bitterness. 'What have you told them?'
'Nothing, yet; that's why I wanted to talk to you. I'm quite prepared to say that you're the only pilot who can fly the mission.'
'They'll know that's nonsense; Floyd could do the job as well as I could. There's not the slightest risk – except for a malfunction, which could happen to anyone.'
'I'd still be willing to stick my neck out, if you insist. After all, no-one can stop me – and we'll all be heroes when we get back to Earth.'
Chang was obviously doing some intricate calculations. He seemed rather pleased with the result.
'Replacing a couple of hundred kilos of payload with propellant gives us an interesting new option; I'd intended to mention it earlier, but there was no way Bill Tee could manage with all that extra gear and a full crew...'
'Don't tell me. The Great Wall.'
'Of course; we could do a complete survey in one or two passes, and find what it really is.'
'I thought we had a very good idea, and I'm not sure if we should go near it. That might be pressing our luck.'
'Perhaps. But there's another reason; to some of us, it's an even better one...'
'Go on.'
'Tsien. It's only ten kilometres from the Wall. We'd like to drop a wreath there.'
So that was what his officers had been discussing so solemnly; not for the first time, Captain Laplace wished he knew a little more Mandarin.
'I understand,' he said quietly. 'I'll have to think it over – and talk to van der Berg and Floyd to see if they agree.'
'And Head Office?'
'No, dammit. This will be my decision.'
47 – Shards
'You'd better hurry,' Ganymede Central had advised, 'The next conjunction will be a bad one – we'll be triggering quakes as well as Io. And we don't want to scare you – but unless our radar's gone crazy, your mountain's sunk another hundred metres since the last check.'
2061: Odyssey Three o-3 Page 15
