The Enceladus Crisis

by Michael J. Martinez

  Shaila smiled. “You will. You’re smart like that.”

  Stephane shook his head. “I don’t know, it’s like Mars again. I’m seeing things that shouldn’t be there.”

  “Any blue?” she asked, using their private code-word for Cherenkov radiation—the blue glow that preceded or accompanied much of the quantum fluctuations on Mars two years ago.

  “No,” he said with a touch of pique. “It would be easier if there were.”

  “All right,” Shaila said. “Don’t work too hard.” She bent down to give him a kiss on the cheek . . . and his skin was cold and clammy. “You sure you’re all right?”

  “I’m fine,” he said curtly, spinning the holomodel in his hands, seemingly lost in thought.

  “Have Conti take another look at you. That’s a serious, don’t-fuck-with-me order,” she said, a small grin breaking through.

  He nodded with a weak smile, then turned back to his work.

  CHAPTER 15

  October 15, 1798

  If you were a French ship trying to hide from the most advanced civilization in the Known Worlds, where would you go?” Weatherby muttered as he turned over pages of charts upon the desk of his cabin, absently nodding at Gar’uk as the Venusian offered him a glass of claret.

  Once Fortitude had arrived on Mimas, Weatherby had called together his officers, along with Lord Morrow and Lady Anne. Each man (and one woman) held charts and maps of the Saturn/Xanath system. Unfortunately, such maps were woefully incomplete due to the Xan’s secretive nature. And there were sixty-four moons circling the massive world—any one of which might provide some form of harbor. Some of these were not even charted properly.

  “Most of Xanath’s moons are agricultural centers,” Morrow said. “The Xan are exceptionally industrious when it comes to farming. The scale of their farms is mind-boggling. With so many millions of them in the ring-cities, I’m told it’s all they can do to keep up. It’s quite important to them.”

  Weatherby nodded. “Then let us forget those, for the Franklin would dare not risk such important areas. What else?”

  Barnes cleared his throat awkwardly. “My lord and lady. Captain Weatherby, sir. Are there any moons around Saturn . . . excuse me, Xanath . . . that even the Xan do not visit? Ones upon which there is no civilized presence at all?”

  Weatherby looked to Morrow, for the ambassador was the most likely to know, but the latter man shrugged. “I should say nearly every bit of habitable land among these worlds is in use,” Morrow said. “The Xan population is quite numerous, said to number in the billions. I have heard they have even begun importing foodstuffs from Callisto simply to make ends meet.”

  Barnes grimaced at this. “Yes, of course, my lord. But are there any places which are specifically prohibited? Perhaps due to an unreasonable environment?”

  “Or perhaps for cultural reasons?” Anne said, growing interested. “Callisto is, in essence, a penal colony used to house those who have lapsed from the Xan’s peaceful philosophies, is it not?”

  Morrow leaned back in his chair, deep in thought. After a moment, he spoke one word: “Titan.”

  Looks were exchanged around the room. Titan was said to be the Xan’s true homeworld in ages past. Once a veritable Garden of Eden for the Saturnine peoples, the Xan’s early martialry resulted in a near cataclysm for the entire race. The Xan were forced to emigrate hastily from their first cradle as the very air and land became poisonous in the wake of their dread sorceries and fell machines.

  Or so it was said. As with most things about the Xan, rumors were plentiful, while facts were in short supply indeed.

  “From what I understand, there is a basic problem of breathing,” Weatherby ventured. “Of course, it would be an ideal place to make harbor, but how long could they last?” The captain turned to Dr. Hawkins. “Then again, they have Earth’s foremost alchemist among them, do they not? Could he provide a working to ameliorate such concerns?”

  The ship’s alchemist shuffled a bit and looked at his feet before responding. “I dare not attempt to quantify what the Count St. Germain is capable of, in terms of the Great Work. The Countess would be better suited to that task, I think. But there are workings in the Royal Navy Manual which provide aids to breathing underwater, as well as in harsh climates. With the right materials and some foreknowledge of the exact nature of Titan’s air, even my poor skill might create something to sustain us, at least for a short time.”

  Weatherby caught Anne nodding in agreement before turning back to Morrow. “The Xan, I imagine, would be quite indisposed to our presence there, no?”

  “Under normal circumstances, I dare say they’d shoot us from the Void without hesitation,” Morrow agreed with a wan smile. “However, circumstances are far from normal. There are those who are howling for the complete dismantling of the Earth Quarter, and others who would see us track Franklin down at any cost in order to preserve the civil peace here. If enough of the latter remain in positions of authority . . .” The ambassador stood up, bringing the rest of the room to its feet. “If you’ll excuse me, I believe I need to send a communiqué to whatever friends we have left.”

  Weatherby nodded as Morrow took his leave. “The rest of you, continue searching. We shall need a catalogue of every single potential harbor the French might employ without leaving Xanath. I don’t care if it’s a mighty moon or the simplest, smallest boulder. We must find them. Mr. Barnes, coordinate our efforts. Dismissed.”

  The rest of the Fortitude’s officers filed out of the room, except for Gar’uk, who began clearing the table and putting the charts and papers in order as best he could. The Venusian was barely literate, and at times Weatherby found himself searching through Gar’uk’s rudimentary filing system for charts or papers. It was a small price to pay, he felt, for the little lizard-creature’s loyalty and care.

  Weatherby turned to Anne, who did not move from her seat at Weatherby’s right hand. “How are you, my lady?” he said softly.

  She favored him with a sad smile. “A perfect wreck, of course.”

  “You do not show it.”

  “It shall do Philip no good for me to collapse into hysterics,” she said simply. “I will find my son and my husband. And if Francis is involved in these schemes, I assure you, Tom, he and I will have words.”

  The steel in her voice assured Weatherby that more than words would be exchanged. In that moment, she looked fully capable of ending the Count St. Germain’s very life with her bare hands, let alone the mystic sciences she commanded.

  “We will find your son, Anne,” he said, quietly but firmly. “I will not rest until he is returned to you.”

  Anne rested her hand upon his for a moment. “I know. I thank you for it.” They held each other’s gaze for several moments, which were not the least bit uncomfortable for either. “You’ve become the man I hoped you’d be, Tom.”

  Weatherby smiled. “’Tis better late than never, I suppose. Perhaps one cannot appreciate the best course until having sailed through a few gales.”

  “Spoken like a true sailor,” she said as she rose from her place. “I shall go assist Dr. Hawkins. If we are to make for Titan, or any other blasted place, we may need the workings he spoke of.”

  Weatherby rose with her and watched her depart. Nineteen years were but a moment in the great histories of the Known Worlds, and they seemed shorter still in her presence.

  Four hours later, Morrow reported that the Xan had given Fortitude permission to travel to Titan—but not without condition. “We are to be escorted, firstly,” the ambassador said as he and Weatherby walked the maindeck together. “Three of the Ovoids will join us. For one, Titan remains something of a sacred enclave—a reminder of their past barbarism, so they may be disinclined to repeat it.”

  Weatherby could not help but smile grimly. “It seems as though it isn’t working quite well.”

  Morrow gave him a narrow look. “You’ve spent too much time in the company of that scoundrel Finch.”

&
nbsp; “My apologies, Ambassador. Do continue.”

  “The second reason for the escort is that the more warlike factions within Xan society have begun to splinter from their government,” Morrow said. “It would seem that the arrival of the Franklin may have prompted the first stirrings of insurrection. I fear that the self-defense forces may be unequal to the task, especially if the partisans are willing to shed more blood as easily as they slayed Sallev.”

  This stopped Weatherby in his tracks. “So we may very well be attacked.”

  “Quite possibly, yes,” Morrow said, not without sympathy.

  Weatherby looked around at his ship as the men prepared for departure. Stores were being hoisted and laid into the hold below. The men were scrubbing decks, coiling ropes, finishing up minor repairs.

  “What are these Ovoids capable of?” Weatherby asked worriedly.

  “I can’t honestly tell you, but I’ve asked Vellusk to impart whatever knowledge of their alchemy he can to your Dr. Hawkins and, of course, Lady Anne. Whether he feels comfortable doing so remains another matter. How long until you’re ready to depart?”

  Weatherby cast a quick glance around. “Three hours, no more.”

  “Then they have three hours to find a defense,” Morrow said simply, placing a hand upon Weatherby’s shoulder, where his captain’s braid now hung heavily. “I’m sorry, Tom. We must stop them. The stakes are too high if we do not.”

  Weatherby nodded soberly. “The French escape with whatever they’ve sought. St. Germain’s alchemy may be put to terrible use. And the Xan descend into civil war—and may yet target Earth.” He took a deep breath. “We haven’t much time. If you’ll excuse me, sir, I believe I have much work ahead.”

  June 21, 2134

  To Greene’s credit, he insisted on bringing all three of his former colleagues with him. Diaz was the only one who could retask the BlueNet satellites—if that was in fact what he wanted—without going through a huge security gauntlet. Coogan and Huntington were worthless in that case, but Diaz figured whomever was pulling the strings here would know she wouldn’t play ball unless she was absolutely sure they were OK.

  As the team marched through the ancient hallways, Diaz had tried engaging Greene in conversation, to no avail. She had no idea if there was a gun to his head here, or if he’d turned, or . . . any of it. The stakes were real enough; Diaz noted that the guards accompanying them were armed with real honest-to-God automatic weapons. No zappers here—these were serious rate-of-fire weapons used to kill. Indeed, as Diaz got a closer look, she realized they were M19A7 assault rifles, made in the good old U.S. of A. Christ. Figures. Seemed the only thing America did these days was export weapons and warfighters.

  As far as she could tell, it looked like someone had moved into the lowest levels of the Siwa ruins and made themselves at home. The corridors were of the same sandstone-brick as the upper levels, but there were power and comm lines strung along the upper walls and ceiling, and most of the doors had been replaced with strong metal ones, probably 3-D printed on site. Most everything there, really, probably came from an industrial sized 3-D printer powered by a portable fusion reactor.

  When they turned the corner, Diaz realized that last bit was pretty off-base.

  They had to have had a lot more power.

  Greene led them into a massive chamber filled with an astounding mix of archaeological artifacts and the most technologically advanced workstations money could buy. The workstations—there were no fewer than fifteen people working the holocontrols—all faced a glass wall; behind it, Diaz could see the side of a massive tube, at least three meters in diameter, that went off into the walls on either side. Before the tube was . . .

  “Is that an altar?” Huntington asked quietly.

  Greene turned and actually smiled. “You were right, Maggie. We’re in the temple of the Oracle of Amun-Ra. This is where Alexander the Great got the Egyptian priesthood to confirm his divine heritage. But right now, we have bigger problems.”

  Diaz nodded. With her attention drawn away from the scale and complexity of the room, she could see the people inside it moving quickly, talking fast, sifting through reams of data on the fly. “You hit a snag,” she said simply.

  “That’s why they captured us,” Greene said, heading to the front of the room where a large console stood right in front of the glass wall. “There’s enough dead ends between here and the surface to ensure you wouldn’t find this facility no matter how long we snooped around; that’s why I was allowed to even bring us here. But as we were poking around, they had the cascading problem, so they decided to grab us in case they couldn’t get it under control.”

  “You were allowed?” Huntington said. “That means you’ve been at this a while with them.”

  Before Greene could respond, someone shouted from across the room. “Dr. Greene!”

  They turned to find an elderly African man walking toward them wearing a rumpled suit and loosened tie, his hand extended and a massive smile on his face. “Dr. Greene, do we have the BlueNet codes yet?”

  “Not yet. But we need them. Maybe you could explain to the general why,” Greene said, turning back to Diaz. “This is Dr. Gerald Ayim of the University of Dar es Salaam. He’s the deputy lead investigator on this project.”

  “The older man nodded and addressed Diaz. “We’re trying to replicate the Mars experiment, but each time we ramp up the particle collisions, the resulting energy flows aren’t channeling properly. They’re bleeding off and threatening to make the entire collider unstable.”

  Diaz folded her arms. “I fail to see how that’s my problem. And if he’s the deputy lead, who’s in charge?”

  “I think you figured that out already, Maria,” Greene said, looking down briefly at his shoes.

  “Your vacation,” she said simply. “You were gonna come here.”

  “It’s real science, Maria. We’re so close. And the funding, you have no idea. This team could do it. We could break through, write the greatest chapter in human history. Right here.”

  Greene’s eyes shone with excitement, but Diaz wasn’t buying it. “And Total-Suez is footing the bill. Still not seeing how that’s my problem.”

  Looking a little uncomfortable, Ayim chimed in. “In order for this to work, we needed to channel the ambient Cherenkov radiation from around the world. You discovered some malfunctioning equipment in Mexico. However, even with all of our equipment in every hot spot you can imagine, it’s not enough. I suppose if we had more than nine months to get it done . . . but we didn’t.”

  Diaz looked around. “You did all this in nine months?”

  “Prefab, Maria!”

  She turned to see Harry Yu walking into the room, trying his best to seem professional while suppressing a very large grin.

  “Jesus, Harry, you’re a son-of-a-bitch,” Diaz said.

  He nodded. “Yeah, probably. Anyway, we started on the collider three weeks after they hired me. After that, it was pretty easy to ship it here and set it up. Thankfully, Dr. Greene here was pretty excited to join up, even if he had to do it on the sly. The man’s a genius. He got the design worked up faster than you could believe. We had to do some joint-ventures with Billiton to get the tunneling done, but we made great progress in a short time.”

  “How much tunneling?” Coogan asked, a look of intense curiosity on his face.

  Harry’s smile finally broke out. “More than three thousand kilometers.” He pulled out a holopad and a map of Egypt sprang into being. A giant circle was superimposed over nearly a third of the entire country, stretching from the Mediterranean coast to the Cairo suburbs to the southern deserts—and back to Siwa. “When you have drills that can vaporize their way along at 45 kilometers an hour, it doesn’t take very long. The hard part was ensuring they were making a perfect circle. It’s the single most powerful accelerator in history. If this can’t open the door, nothing can.”

  Greene nodded. “But the problem is, we’re still having focusing issues. Nowhere
near as much as we had on Mars, but if there ambient tachyons out there, we want to get them into our chamber. And that means focusing all the latent Cherenkov radiation we can onto this site. And that’s where we need your help.”

  “You know I don’t have a handle on the science as much as I’d like, but I’m pretty sure BlueNet’s not going to help,” Diaz said. “It’s designed to detect radiation, not focus it. I—” She stopped and looked hard at Greene. “You son of a bitch.”

  The physicist merely shrugged. “I knew that if the DAEDALUS team ever did what we’re trying to do here, they’d need a means to focus tachyons just like we do now. And since I had sign-off on the tech, I added a couple of things to the spec. I was hoping to do it with you, Maria. Really. But it wasn’t happening.”

  Diaz’ eyes bored into Greene like a laser drill. “Yeah, damn shame. But far as I’m concerned, you can take this whole project and shove it up your ass. You aren’t getting my satellites. Period.”

  Ayim quickly grew animated. “You don’t understand. We began a new experiment before you arrived, and I’m afraid that without the additional stabilizing influence from BlueNet, we could see a runaway cascade effect. I don’t think we have the capacity to contain and redirect that much energy. The matter-antimatter collision could destroy the entire city above!”

  Harry nodded. “We need you, Maria. We can make this work. We just need your help.”

  Diaz gave him a wolfish smile. “Nice try. Just pull the plug on the damn thing and call it a day. Sure, you’ll probably wreck your gear, but too bad. Otherwise, you’re going to endanger the lives of everyone here. Even you aren’t willing to do that, are you, Harry?”

  “Of course not,” Harry snapped. “Can you imagine the lawsuits? But if it’s lives you’re worried about, Maria . . .”