Ben Bova - Mercury

by Mercury(lit)

  Later, he thought, I'll dig her name out of the personnel files. Perhaps she would not be averse to joining me for an after-dinner drink this evening.

  He had almost forgotten her, though, by the time he reached his stateroom aboard the fusion torch ship. His quarters were spacious and well-appointed, filled with little luxuries such as the single peony blossom in the delicate tall vase on the corner of his desk, and the faint aroma of a springtime garden that wafted in on the nearly silent air blowers.

  Yamagata peeled off his sweaty coveralls, took a quick shower, then wrapped himself in a silk kimono of midnight blue. By then he had worked up the courage to call his son, back at corporate headquarters in New Kyoto.

  Earth was on the other side of the Sun at the moment, and his call had to be relayed through one of the communications satellites in solar orbit. Transmission lag time, according to the data bar across the bottom of Yamagata's wall screen, would be eleven minutes.

  A two-way conversation will be impossible, Yamagata realized as he put the call through on his private, scrambled channel. I'll talk and Nobu will listen; then we'll reverse the process.

  It still startled him to see his son's image. Nobuhiko Yamagata was physically almost exactly the same age as his father, because of the years Saito had spent in cryonic suspension.

  "Father," said Nobu, dipping his head in a respectful bow. "I trust you had a good journey and are safely in orbit at Mercury." Before Saito could reply, Nobu added jokingly, "And I hope you brought your sunblock lotion."

  Saito rocked back with laughter in his contoured easy chair. "Sunblock lotion indeed! I didn't come out here for a tan, you know."

  He knew it would take eleven minutes for his words to reach Nobu, and another eleven for his son's reply. So Saito immediately launched into a description of his visit to Goethe base on Mercury and the problem with the solar panels on the powersats.

  He ended with, "This Alexios person claims he has sent the data to your experts. I am anxious to hear what they think about it."

  And then he waited. Yamagata got up from his chair, went to the bar and poured himself a stiff Glenlivet, knocked it back and felt the smooth heat of the whisky spread through him. He paced around his compartment, admired the holograms of ancient landscapes that decorated the walls, and tried not to look at his wristwatch.

  I know how to pass the time, he said to himself. Sliding into his desk chair, he opened a new window on the wall display and called up the ship's personnel files. Scanning through the names and pictures of the pilots aboard took several minutes. Ah! He smiled, pleased. There she is: Birgitta Sundsvall. I was right, she's Swedish. Unmarried. Good. Employee since...

  He reviewed her entire dossier. There were several photographs of the woman in it, and Yamagata was staring at them when his son's voice broke into his reverie.

  "Alexios has transmitted the data on the solar cells' degradation, Father," Nobuhiko replied at last.

  Yamagata immediately wiped the personnel file from the screen, as if his son could see it all the way back on Earth.

  Nobu went on, "This appears to be quite a serious problem. My analysts tell me that the decrease in power output efficiency almost completely wipes out any advantage of generating the power from Mercury orbit."

  Yamagata knew it would be pointless to interrupt, and allowed his son to continue, "If this analysis stands up, your Mercury project will have to be written off, Father. The costs of operating from Mercury are simply too high. You might as well keep the sunsats in Earth orbit, all things considered."

  "But have we considered all things?" Yamagata snapped. "I can't believe that this problem will stop us. We did analyses of cell degradation before we started this project. Why are the actual figures so much worse than our predictions?"

  Yamagata realized he was getting angry. He took a deep breath, tried to remember a mantra that would calm him.

  "Please call me," he said to his son, "when your people have more definite answers to my questions." Then he cut off the connection and the wall screen went blank.

  Technically, the Mercury project was not being funded by Yamagata Corporation. Saito had officially retired from the corporation soon after he'd been revived from his long cryonic sleep. Instead, once he left the lamasery and returned to the world, he used his personal fortune to establish the Sunpower Foundation and began the Mercury project. As far as Nobu and the rest of the world were concerned, the Mercury project was devoted to generating inexpensive electrical power for the growing human habitations spreading through the solar system. Only Saito Yamagata knew that its true goal was to provide the power to send human explorers to the stars.

  Saito-and one other person.

  PAHS

  Even after a dozen years of living with the lamas, Yamagata could not separate himself from his desire for creature comforts. He did not consider the accommodations aboard his ship Himawari to be particularly sumptuous, but he felt that he had a right to a certain amount of luxury. Sitting at the head of the small dining table in his private wardroom, he smiled as he recalled that the great fifteenth-century Chinese admiral Zheng He had included "pleasure women" among the crews of his great vessels of exploration and trade. At least I have not gone that far, Yamagata thought, although the memory of the Sundsvall woman still lingered in the back of his mind.

  Seated at his right was Bishop Danvers, sipping abstemiously at a tiny stemmed glass of sherry. He was a big man, with heavy shoulders and considerable bulk. Yet he looked soft, round of face and body, although Yamagata noticed that his hands were big, heavy with horny calluses and prominent knuckles. The hands of a bricklayer, Yamagata thought, on the body of a churchman. On Yamagata's left sat Victor Molina, an astrobiologist from some Midwestern American university. The ship's captain, Chuichi Shibasaki, sat at the far end of the table.

  Bishop Danvers had come along on Himawari because the New Morality had insisted that Mercury Base must have a chaplain, and the project manager had specifically asked for Danvers to take up the mission. Danvers, however, showed no inclination to leave the comforts of the ship and actually go down to the planet's surface. Hardly any of the ship's mainly Japanese crew paid the scantest attention to him, but the bishop did not seem to mind their secularist indifference in the slightest. Sooner or later he would go down to Goethe base and offer the men and women there his spiritual guidance. If anyone wanted some. What would the bishop think of pleasure women? Yamagata wondered, suppressing a grin.

  Danvers put down his barely touched glass and asked in a sharp, cutting voice, "Victor, you don't actually expect to find living creatures on Mercury, do you?"

  Victor Molina and Bishop Danvers knew each other, Yamagata had been told. They had been friends years earlier. The bishop had even performed Molina's wedding ceremony.

  Molina was olive-skinned, with startling cobalt blue eyes and a pugnacious, pointed chin. His luxuriant, sandy hair was tied back in a ponytail, fastened by a clip of asteroidal silver that matched the studs in both his earlobes. He had already drained his sherry, and answered the bishop's question as one of the human waiters refilled his glass.

  "Why not?" he replied, a trifle belligerently. "We've found living organisms on Mars and the moons of Jupiter, haven't we?"

  "Yes, but-"

  "And what about those enormous creatures in Jupiter's ocean? They might even be intelligent."

  The bishop's pale eyes snapped angrily. "Intelligent? Nonsense! Surely you can't believe-"

  "It isn't a matter of belief, Elliott, it's a question of fact. Science depends on observation and measurement, not some a priori fairytales."

  "You're not a Believer," the bishop muttered.

  "I'm an observer," Molina snapped. "I'm here to see what the facts are."

  Yamagata thought that Dr. Molina could use some of the lamas' lessons in humility. He found himself fascinated by the differences between the two men. Bishop Danvers's round face was slightly flushed, whether from anger or embarrassment Yamagata
could not tell. His hair was thinning, combed forward to hide a receding hairline. He refuses to take rejuvenation treatments, Yamagata guessed; it must be against his religious principles. Molina, on the other hand, looked like a young Lancelot: piercing eyes, flowing hair, strong shoulders. Yamagata pictured him on a prancing charger, seeking out dragons to slay.

  Before the discussion became truly disagreeable Yamagata tried to intervene: "Everyone was quite surprised to find creatures living in the clouds of Venus, and even on that planet's surface," he said.

  "Silicone snakes, with liquid sulfur for blood," Captain Shibasaki added, taking up on his employer's lead.

  Bishop Danvers shuddered.

  "Incredible organisms," Molina said. "What was that line of Blake's? 'Did He who made the lamb make thee?' " He stared across the table at the bishop, almost sneering.

  "But none of those creatures have the intelligence that God gave us," Danvers countered.

  "Those Jovian Leviathans just might," said Molina.

  The table fell silent. At a nod from Yamagata, the two waiters began to serve the appetizers: smoked eel in a seaweed salad. Yamagata and the captain fell to with chopsticks. The two others used forks. Yamagata noted that neither of the gaijin did more than pick at the food. Ah well, he thought, they'll feel more at home with the steak that comes next.

  Bishop Danvers wouldn't let the subject drop, however.

  "But surely you don't expect to find anything living down on the surface of Mercury," he said to Molina.

  "I'll grant you, it's not the most likely place to look for living organisms," Molina admitted. "The planet's been baked dry. Except for the ice caches near the poles there's not a drop of water anywhere, not even deep underground."

  "Then what makes you think-"

  "PAHs," said Molina.

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "PAHs," Molina repeated.

  The bishop frowned. "Are you being deliberately rude to me, Victor?"

  "I believe," Yamagata intervened, "that our noted astrobiologist is referring to a certain form of chemical compound."

  "Polycyclic aromatic hydrocarbons," Molina agreed. "P-A-H. PAHs."

  "Oh," said Bishop Danvers.

  "You have found such compounds on the surface of Mercury?" Yamagata asked.

  Nodding vigorously, Molina replied, "Traces of PAHs have been found in some of the rock samples sent for analysis by the people building your base down there."

  "And you believe this indicates the presence of life?" Danvers challenged. "A trace of some chemicals?"

  "PAHs are biomarkers," Molina said firmly. "They've been found on Earth, on other planets, on comets-even in interstellar clouds."

  "And always in association with living creatures?" Yamagata asked.

  Molina hesitated a fraction of a second. "Almost always. They can be created abiologically, under certain circumstances."

  Danvers shook his head. "I can't believe anything could live on that godforsaken world."

  "How do you know god's forsaken this planet?" Molina challenged.

  "I didn't mean it literally," Danvers grumbled.

  "How strong is this evidence?" Yamagata asked. "Does the presence of these compounds mean that life is certain to be found on Mercury?"

  "Nothing's certain," Molina said. "As a matter of fact, the PAHs deteriorate very rapidly in the tremendous heat and totally arid conditions down there."

  "Ah," said the bishop, smiling for the first time.

  Molina's answering smile was bigger, and fiercer. "But don't you see? If the PAHs deteriorate quickly, yet we still find them present in the rocks, then something must be producing them constantly. Something down there must be continuously creating those complex, fragile compounds. Something that's alive."

  The bishop's face blanched. Yamagata suddenly foresaw his sun-power project being invaded by armies of earnest environmentalists, each eager to prevent any activity that might contaminate the native life-forms.

  GOETHE BASE

  Dante Alexios sat rigidly in his chair and tried not to let his satisfaction show on his face. The wall screen in his office clearly showed the earnest, intent expression on Molina's face.

  He wants to come down to the base, Alexios said to himself, delighted. He's asking me for permission to come down here.

  "My mission is sanctioned by the International Astronautical Authority," Molina was saying, "as well as the International Consortium of Universities and the science foundations of-"

  "Of course," Alexios interrupted, "of course. I have no intention of interfering with your important research, Dr. Molina. I was merely trying to explain to you that conditions down here on the surface are rather difficult. Our base is still fairly rugged, you know."

  Molina's intent expression softened into a smug smile. "I've been in rugged places before, Mr. Alexios. You should see the site on Europa, with all that radiation to protect against."

  "I can imagine," Alexios replied dryly.

  "Then you have no objection to my coming down to your base?"

  "None whatsoever," said Alexios. "Our facility is at your disposal." Molina's bright blue eyes sparkled. "Wonderful! I'll start the preparations immediately."

  And with that, Molina ended the transmission. Alexios's wall screen went suddenly blank. He didn't bother to thank me, or even to say good-bye, Alexios thought. How like Victor, still as impetuous and self-centered as ever.

  Alexios got up from his chair and stretched languidly, surprised at how tense his body had become during his brief conversation with the astrobiologist.

  Victor didn't recognize me, Alexios said to himself. Not the slightest flicker of recall. Of course, it's been more than ten years and the nanosurgery has altered my face considerably. But he didn't even remember my voice. I'm dead and gone, as far as he's concerned.

  All to the good, Alexios told himself. Now he'll come down here on his fool's errand and destroy himself. I'll hardly have to lift a finger. He's eager to rush to his own annihilation.

  Alexios dreamed troubling dreams that night. The steel-hard determination that had brought him to Mercury and lured Victor Molina to this hellhole of a world softened as he slept, thawed slightly as he sank into the uncontrollable world of his inner thoughts, the world that he kept hidden and firmly locked away during his waking hours.

  In his dream he was standing once again at the base of the sky-tower, craning his neck to follow its rigidly straight line as it rose beyond the clouds, up, up, farther than the eye could follow, stretching up toward the stars.

  Lara was standing beside him, her arm around his waist, her head resting on his strong shoulder. The diamond ring on her finger was his, not Victor's. She had chosen him and rejected Molina. Alexios turned to her, took her in his arms, kissed her with all the tenderness and love his soul could contain.

  But she pulled away from him, suddenly terrified. Her lovely face contorted into a scream as the proud tower began to slowly collapse, writhing like an immense snake of man-made fibers, coiling languidly, uncontrollably, unstoppably, as it slowly but inexorably crashed to the ground. All in silence. In utter silence, as if he had suddenly gone completely deaf. Alexios wanted to scream, too, but his throat was frozen. He wanted to stop the tower's collapse with his bare hands, but he could not move, his feet were rooted to the spot.

  The immense collapsing tower smashed into the workers' village and beyond, crushing houses and cinderblock work buildings, smashing the bodies of men, women, and children as it thundered to the ground, pulverizing dreams and plans and hopes beyond repair. The whole mountainside shook as dust rose to cover all the work, all the sweat and labor that had raised the tower to its full height. Alexios's mouth tasted of ashes and a bitterness that went beyond human endurance.

  Lara had disappeared. All around him, as far as the eye could see, there was nothing but devastation and the mangled bodies of the dead.

  My fault, he told himself. The sin of pride. My pride has ruined everything, killed all th
ose millions of people. Covered with ashes, his soul crushed along with everything else, he screamed to the vacant sky, "My fault! It's all my fault!"

  He awoke with a start, covered with cold sweat. In the years since the skytower's destruction, Alexios had learned that the catastrophe was not his fault, not at all. The soul-killing guilt he had once felt had long since evolved into an implacable, burning hatred. He thirsted not for forgiveness, nor even for the clearing of his name. He lived for vengeance.