by Ben Bova
“Hey! I’m icing up. They’re covering me with ice.”
“That shouldn’t happen,” Wunderly said, sounding almost annoyed.
“I don’t give a shit what should happen. These little cabróns are covering me up!”
More red lights flashed on his faceplate. One by one the sensors on the skin of the suit were going down. Covered with ice.
“Can you still move your arms and legs?” Fritz asked.
Gaeta tried. “Yeah. The joints are running a little stiff but they still — uh-oh.” Several particles of ice attached themselves to his faceplate.
“What’s the matter?”
“They’re on my faceplate,” Gaeta said. He stared at the particles, more fascinated than frightened. The little fregados are crawling across my faceplate, he realized.
“They’re moving,” he reported. “They’re walkin’ across my faceplate!”
“They can’t walk,” Wunderly said.
“Tell it to them!” Gaeta answered. “They’re covering up my faceplate. The whole suit! They’re wrapping me up in ice!”
“That’s impossible.”
“Yeah, sure.”
Whatever they were, the tiny particles were crawling over his faceplate. He could see it. More of them were coming in, too, covering more and more of the visor. Within minutes Gaeta could see nothing of the outside. His suit was completely encased in ice.
PRISONERS
Wunderly was in her own cubbyhole office, a pair of video monitors on her desk, trying to watch Gaeta on one display screen and the new moon that had joined the main ring on the screen beside it.
All she was getting from Gaeta was data from his suit’s interior sensors and his own excited report that the ice particles were encasing the suit. They can’t move, she told herself. They’re not alive, not motile. They’re just flakes of dust covered with ice.
But what’s making them cover Manny’s suit? Electromagnetic attraction? Temperature differential?
She was running through possibilities that grew more and more fanciful while she absently switched to the spectrographic sensor from the minisatellite that was watching the newly arrived moonlet on the other side of the ring. Wunderly frowned at the display. It didn’t look right. She called up the spectrograph’s earlier data. The moonlet was definitely icy, but laced with dark carbonaceous soot. Yet the real-time spectrogram showed much less carbon: it was practically all ice. Where did the carbon get to?
Intrigued, she switched back to the minisat’s visual display. And sank back in her little chair, gasping.
The moonlet was in the center of what looked like a maelstrom. A whirlpool of ice flakes was swirling around the moonlet, like a huge family engulfing a newly arrived member.
“My God almighty, they’re alive!” Wunderly shouted, leaping out of her chair. “They’re alive!”
Gaeta had learned long ago that panic was the worst enemy. Even with his faceplate covered so thickly that he could see nothing outside, he kept calm as he checked the suit’s systems. Life support okay, power okay, communications in the green, propulsion ready. No need to push the red button yet.
“Try rubbing the ice off your faceplate,” came Fritz’s voice, also calm, methodical.
Fritz’ll keep on recommending different fixes until I go down in flames, Gaeta knew.
“I’ve done that,” he said, raising his left arm to wipe at the faceplate again. The arm felt suffer than it had just a few moments earlier. “They just come back again.”
As he spoke, Gaeta rubbed the pincers of his left arm across the faceplate. They scraped some of the ice off enough so that he could see more particles rushing toward him. Within seconds the faceplate was covered up again.
“No joy,” he said. “They just swarm in and cover everything. It’s like they’re alive. I can see them crawling across my faceplate.”
“They are alive!” Wunderly broke in, her voice shrill with exhilaration. “Get some in the sample box!”
Gaeta huffed. “Maybe they’re gonna get me in their sample box.”
He wondered how much thickness of ice it would take to block his antennas and cut off communications. I’m getting freeze-wrapped like a Christmas turkey and she’s worried about getting samples to study. He checked the temperature inside the suit. The display was normal, although Gaeta thought it felt chillier than normal. Just my imagination, he told himself. Yeah. Sure.
He called to Fritz, “I think maybe I oughtta light off the jets and get outta here.”
“Not yet!” Wunderly pleaded. “Try to collect some samples!”
Fritz’s voice, icy calm, said, “Your suit functions aren’t being impaired.”
“Not yet,” Gaeta agreed. “But what chingado good am I sitting out here, blind as a bat and covered with ice?”
Wunderly asked, “Can you at least wait until the minisat swings over to your side of the planet, so I can get spectrographic readings on the ice that’s covering you?”
“How long will that take?” Fritz asked.
A pause. Then Wunderly answered, her voice much lower, “Eleven hours and twenty-seven minutes.”
“The suit is designed for a forty-eight-hour excursion,” said Fritz.
“But if the ice covering continues to build up, his communications and propulsion functions might be disabled.”
Before Wunderly could reply, Gaeta said, “I’m okay for now, Fritz. Let’s see what happens.”
Berkowitz spoke up. “This is terrific stuff, people, but all your suit cameras are covered up. We’re getting nothing but audio from you, Manny. If we can get outside video from the minisat, we’ll be golden.”
Gaeta nodded inside his helmet, thinking sardonically, And if I get killed, the ratings’ll be even better.
Feeling shaky after her near drowning, and even shakier knowing that somehow Kananga’s people were tracking her, Holly walked as fast as she could to the end of the tunnel, climbed the metal ladder that led up to the surface, and pushed open a hatch disguised to look like a small boulder. She was at the endcap; she paused for a moment and took a deep breath of air. It seemed fresh and sweet. The entire habitat spread before her eyes, green and wide and open.
She pulled herself up from the hatch, swung the plastic boulder shut again, and started across the springy green grass toward the grove of young elms and maples sprouting farther up toward the centerline.
Somebody was already there, she saw as she approached the woods. Lying stretched out on the mossy ground in among the trees.
Holly froze, feeling like a deer that’s spotted a mountain lion. But the man — she thought it looked like a man — seemed to be asleep, or unconscious or even dead. He wasn’t wearing the black outfit of the Security Department, either; just tan coveralls.
Cautiously, Holly approached near enough to make out his face. It’s Raoul! she realized. What’s he doing out here? A thought stopped her in her tracks. Is he working for Kananga? Is he part of some search group, looking for me?
Then she realized she was standing out in the open, perfectly visible to anyone within a kilometer or more. Raoul wouldn’t go over to Kananga, she decided. He’s a friend.
She went to him, feeling a little safer once she was within the shadows of the trees.
Tavalera stirred as she approached him, blinked, then sat up so abruptly it startled Holly.
He blinked again, rubbed his eyes. “Holly? Is it you, or am I dreaming?”
She smiled warmly. “It’s me, Raoul. What are you doing all the way out here?”
“Lookin’ for you,” he said, getting to his feet. “Guess I dozed off. Some searcher, huh?” He grinned sheepishly.
“You’re just going to get yourself in trouble, Raoul. Kananga’s people are following me. I’ve been trying to stay a jump ahead of them.”
Tavalera took in a deep breath. “I know. I came to help you.”
Holly thought that if Raoul knew enough about her to wait for her here at the endcap, Kananga’s people must have
figured out her habits, too.
“We’ve got to find someplace to hide,” she said. “Someplace where we’ll be safe.”
“It’s too late for that,” said a new voice.
They turned and saw a tall, lanky young man whose skin was the color of smooth dark chocolate. In his hand was the small electronic sniffer.
“Colonel Kananga wants to see you, Miss Lane,” he said, his voice soft, nonthreatening.
“I don’t want to see Colonel Kananga,” said Holly.
“That’s unfortunate. I’m afraid I must insist that you come with me.”
Tavalera stepped in front of Holly. “Run, Holly,” he said. “I’ll hold him off while you get away.”
The black man smiled. Pointing out beyond the trees to a trio of black-clad people approaching them, he said, “There’s no need for violence. And there’s no place to run to.”
RING CREATURES
Wunderly could barely contain her excitement. She was bouncing up and down in her little chair as she watched the ring particles swarming over the new moonlet.
It’s food for them! she told herself as she switched from visual to infrared and then to the spectrographic display. She wished there had been room in the minisat for ultraviolet and gamma ray sensors. What we need is an active laser probe, she thought, then immediately countered, But that might kill the particles. Particles? No, they’re living creatures. Ice creatures, surviving at temperatures of minus two hundred Celsius and lower. Extremophiles that thrive in a low-temperature environment.
The mystery of Saturn’s rings is solved, she thought. The rings aren’t just passive collections of ice flakes. They’re made of active, living creatures! They grab anything that falls into their region and take it apart. Asteroids, little ice chunks, it’s all food for them. That’s how Saturn can maintain its ring system. It’s alive.
Let’s see, she thought. Saturn has forty-two moons that we know of. Every so often an asteroid or an ice chunk from the Kuiper Belt wanders into the ring system and these creatures chew it up. The rings are constantly losing particles, having them sucked down into Saturn’s clouds. But the rings keep renewing themselves by devouring the incoming moonlets that stray into their grip.
Suddenly she looked up from the displays. Manny! They’ll try to chew up Manny’s suit. They could kill him!
She yelled into her comm link, “Manny! Get out of there! Now! Before they chew through your suit!”
Fritz’s voice replied coldly, “I don’t know if he can hear us. I haven’t had any word from him for nearly half an hour. The ice must have built up too thickly over his antennas.”
Holly watched the three black-clad figures approaching, climbing the grassy rise toward the copse where she and Tavalera stood with the Ethiopian tracker. He had his comm unit to his ear, nodding unconsciously as he listened to his orders.
At last he said, “Colonel Kananga is on his way. He wants to meet you by the central airlock, here at the endcap.”
Tavalera suddenly lunged at the tracker, shouting wildly, “Run, Holly!” as he tackled the Ethiopian.
The two men went down in a tangle of arms and legs. Holly hesitated an instant, long enough to see that Raoul was no fighter. The Ethiopian quickly recovered from his surprise and threw Tavalera off his back, then scrambled to his feet. Before he could do anything, Holly launched herself in a flying kick that caught the tracker in the ribs and knocked him down again. Tavalera got up and grabbed for her hand.
The bolt of a laser beam knocked him down again. Tavalera grabbed his leg with both hands as he rolled on the ground in pain. “Shit! The same friggin’ leg!”
Holly froze into immobility. Raoul’s leg wasn’t bleeding much, but a pinprick of a black hole smoldered halfway up his thigh.
The Ethiopian got slowly to his feet as the three other security officers ran across the grassy rise toward them.
“How’d they get weapons into the habitat?” Holly asked, sinking to her knees beside the writhing, cursing Tavalera.
“Cutting tools,” Tavalera grunted, grimacing. “They must’ve adapted laser tools into sidearms.”
The leader of the three newcomers looked over the situation. “Good work,” he said to the Ethiopian. Gesturing to his two underlings, he said, “Haul this one to his feet and drag him along.”
They grabbed Tavalera, not gently at all.
“Come along,” the leader said to Holly. “Colonel Kananga wants to see you at the central airlock.”
The only thing that truly worried Gaeta was being cut off from communicating with Fritz. The suit was holding up all right, although the interior temperature had definitely dropped nearly three degrees.
Gaeta was thinking of his possible alternatives as he drifted, wrapped in ice, mummified cryogenically. Wunderly thinks the ice particles are alive. Maybe she’s right. They sure looked like they were crawling across my faceplate. So maybe they’re trying to eat me, eat the suit. Can they eat cermet or organometallics? Jezoo, I hope not!
Wait for another eleven hours, so they can get video of me? I could be dead by then.
But if I bug out now, there won’t be any video to show the nets.
Funny, he thought, how the mind works. Right here in the middle of this mierda what does my brain come up with? He who fights and runs away lives to fight another day. These rings have existed for thousands of years, millions, more likely. They’re not going away. I can come back. With better preparation, better equipment. And better video coverage.
That decided him. Gaeta pulled his right arm out of its sleeve and set up the thruster program. I’ll be flying blind, he realized. He had lost all sense of where he was in relation to the habitat or to Timoshenko, waiting for him in the shuttlecraft. The suit’s navigation program was useless now. Better take it slow and easy. First priority is to get your butt out of this blizzard. But don’t go blasting off to Alpha Centauri.
He touched the keypad that fired the thruster jets. Nothing happened.
Eberly had taken over Professor Wilmot’s old office, now that he was officially the habitat’s chief administrator. His first official act was to send Wilmot’s stuffy old furniture to storage and replace it with sleek modernistic chrome and plastic bleached and stained to look like teak.
He had hardly sat at his gleaming desk when Morgenthau pushed open the door to his office and stepped in, unannounced. Dressed in a flamboyant rainbow-hued caftan, she looked around the office’s bare walls with a smug, self-satisfied smile that was close to being a smirk.
“You’ll need some pictures on these walls,” she said. “I’ll see that you get some holowindows that can be programmed—”
“I can decorate my own office,” Eberly snapped.
Her expression didn’t change at all. “Don’t be touchy. Now that you have the power you should surround yourself with the proper trappings of power. Symbols are important. Just ask Vyborg — he knows all about the importance of symbolism.”
“I have a lot of work to do,” Eberly said.
“You have to meet with Kananga.”
Eberly shook his head. “It’s not on my agenda.”
“He’s waiting for you at the central airlock, out at the endcap.”
“I’m not going—”
“He has Holly in custody. He wants you there for her trial. And execution.”
DRUMHEAD
Blinded by the ice coating his suit, his communications antennas blocked, the temperature inside the suit dropping, Gaeta mulled over his options. The thrusters won’t fire, he realized, and I don’t know why. The diagnostic display splashed on the inside of his faceplate showed the propulsion system was in the green.
“Engineer’s hell,” he muttered to himself. “Everything checks but nothing works.”
The suit’s diagnostics were bare-bones. Fritz had a better idea of what was going on than he did, Gaeta knew. He’s got the details. He’s even got the positioning data that feeds my nav program; all I’ve got is a comm link that doesn’t work
.
Gaeta had one last trick in his repertoire. If this doesn’t work I’ll be a frozen dinner for these chingado ice bugs, he told himself. He popped the suit’s emergency antenna. The spring-loaded Buckyball wire cracked through the ice shell and whizzed out the full length of its hundred meters. Gaeta felt the vibration inside the suit, like the faint buzz of an electric razor.
“Fritz! Can you hear me?” he called.
“Manny!” Fritz’s voice replied immediately. “What’s your situation? The diagnostics here are a blur.”
“Suit antennas iced over,” Gaeta replied, slipping automatically into the clipped, time-saving argot of pilots and ground controllers. “Thrusters won’t fire.”
“Life support?”
“Okay for now. Thrusters, man. I gotta get outta here.”
“Have you tried the backup?”
“Of course I’ve tried the backup! It’s like everything’s frozen solid.” Wunderly’s voice interrupted, “Crank up your suit’s heaters.”
“The heaters?”
“Run them up as hot as you can stand it,” she said. “The ice bugs probably don’t like high temperatures.”
“Probablydoesn’t sound like much help,” Gaeta said.
“Try it,” Fritz commanded.
Gaeta knew the suit’s electrical power came from a nuclear thermionic generator: plenty of electricity available for the heaters.
Reluctantly he said, “Okay. Going into sauna mode.”
Holly was more worried about Tavalera’s leg than her own prospects. Two of the black-clad security people were dragging Raoul up the slope toward the central airlock. He looked to be in shock, his face white, his teeth gritted. It was foolish of him to try to help me, Holly thought. Foolish and very brave.
With the Ethiopian in the lead, they climbed the gentle rise, feeling the odd decrease in gravity as they got closer to the habitat’s centerline. Holly wondered if she could use the confusing loss of gravity as a weapon, but there were four of Kananga’s people and only herself and the wounded Tavalera to counter them. She couldn’t leave Raoul in their clutches, no matter what lay ahead.
