It worked. His consciousness accepted the new shell. Erik sometimes wondered why he, of all people, had been chosen for this mission. Officially, no one wanted to tell him why, but he had heard through the grapevine that most of the candidates did not tolerate the transition well.
He’d never had any difficulty imagining that he was something else. When his father would get drunk and go on a rampage at home, young Erik imagined he was a table that did not care. He imagined every detail down to the grain of his wood and the feeling of the linoleum under his four feet, enabling him to survive his father’s fits of rage without being harmed. “You see,” his mother would now have told him, “you never know what your imagination is good for.” Nevertheless, he would rather not have had an alcoholic as a father.
“Are you coming?”
“Yeah.”
Couldn’t one ruminate a little? Erik activated the navigation. Suddenly he saw everything clearly. Far above him was the belly of the ship. The volcano waited below, and Nuria had already started the descent. Their destination was a so-called ‘black smoker,’ a hydrothermal vent on the edge of the volcano’s crater. Erik started the engines and zoomed into the depths. He should not have made such a fuss earlier. The mission was intriguing, especially for him as a geologist, but also for Nuria with her doctorate in biology.
They had only discovered the vent when the data from two days ago was being analyzed, which was why the scientists on board had requested this unplanned excursion. A new, previously unknown black smoker was worth a closer look. Also, if you looked at it from the perspective of the Venus expedition, the conditions on the neighboring planet were not unlike those of the smoker.
“Hey, wait a minute,” Nuria piped up.
He must have shot right past her. Erik shook his head. As a geologist, he should arrive first at the site. He switched his field of vision to infrared and had to close his eyes, dazzled. He had forgotten that the entire ocean floor around here was hot. First he had to lower the sensitivity.
Erik opened his eyes again. The seabed glowed orange-red. It was warmest where the red component was particularly strong. But he was not making any progress. The last eruption of the Havre Volcano was not long ago, accounting for why it was so warm everywhere, and also explaining why the black smoker was not noticeable.
Erik set the infrared camera to search for movements, for currents. Somewhere, hot water was spurting from a hole and spreading outward. He had to find that spot.
There was something over there. To the left of his position, a haze was visible in the picture.
“On the left,” cried Nuria, “I have it!”
I was quicker, he thought. His body approached the spot at the bottom of the sea where the haze began. He then turned on his lamp. It was unmistakable—they were in the right spot! Something that looked like a plume of dark smoke spurted from two openings in the ocean floor—not smoke, but minerals, which dissolved in the hot water and precipitated when the warm stream met the cool seawater.
He sank slowly toward the bottom. Shortly before reaching his destination he adjusted his weight so that he floated. For this purpose, his body possessed cavities that functioned like the swim bladders of a fish. He must not disturb the environment of the black smoker. What he had here was perhaps a unique biotope. They would only find out more later aboard the Ocean Explorer.
But he could already say this much—the geological phenomenon was gorgeous. The clouds were three-dimensional and seemed quite alive. They slowly changed their shapes, but despite their enormous height of almost 20 meters, they remained impressively stable. Their surroundings glittered. That must be pyrite, also known as fool’s gold. He measured the temperatures—420 degrees at the base.
“Utterly magnificent,” said Nuria.
For once he had to agree with her. Although he knew everything about black smokers, Erik had never seen one first hand in its natural environment. The huge clouds seemed somehow mysterious to him. Why was that? Was it just because of the depth, or because he knew that life on Earth most likely began somewhere like here?
Nuria took samples. They could not perform an on-the-spot investigation of the action at the microscopic level in the clouds or next to the vent.
At first, Erik took his time regarding the rising cloud. When he had gazed his fill, he began to measure all the physical parameters.
“I’ve found something interesting,” Nuria said. Erik shifted his gaze from his screen toward her. Her head was bent over the microscope.
“Little green men in the mud?” he asked.
“You’re pretty close!”
“Are you kidding me?”
“Why would I do that? See for yourself.” She moved aside so that he could see through the eyepiece.
Erik closed his left eye and risked a peek. He saw small, grass-green rods against a light background, a far cry from little green men! “I’m not particularly impressed,” he said, returning to his seat.
The curves of the spectrograph were far more exciting. The iron content of the deposits was extremely high here. If the location were not so deep, the volcano would be of interest to mining companies. On the other hand, there was a significant percentage of elemental sulfur, which was unusual.
“But you should be impressed,” Nuria said. “Aren’t you surprised that they’re green? These are green sulfur bacteria.”
“Well, then they are supposed to be green.”
“What you see here is a form of chlorophyll, the molecule that plants on land also have in their leaves. Do you notice anything?”
Erik reflected. Chlorophyll was essential for photosynthesis. But down here...
“You’re right,” he said. “It makes no sense. Down here it is pitch black, so these bacteria have no use for chlorophyll. They must have been brought here by the current.”
“No, they live here. The exciting thing is that their chlorosomes, which are their photosynthetic organs, are so sensitive to light that they can use the infrared radiation of the black smoker as an energy source. They also do not need oxygen, but use sulfur compounds to ultimately produce the carbohydrates they are composed of.”
“Ah, that would explain the percentage of sulfur I found in the deposits,” said Erik.
“It could be a reason for that.”
“Did you discover anything new?” Erik asked.
“No, not at all. Green sulfur bacteria have been known for a long time. But it is nevertheless interesting, because black smokers usually last only for a few decades. For some unexplained reason, the species that settle in their vicinity do not die out. Some mechanism has to transport them over long distances.”
Erik imagined the pressure in the volcano’s caldera slowly diminishing until the black smoker’s cloud disappeared. The bacteria, and all the other species, would lose their energy source. But still, life would not disappear. Did the universe work similarly? What mechanism drove the spores of life from one planet to the next? Perhaps they would manage to come a little closer to answering these questions on Venus.
February 4, 2079, Tokyo
Donning the lifelike facemask that would turn her into the woman pictured in her fake passport was a task that demanded manual dexterity. After all, the counterfeit face must meet biometric standards. As she left the toilet stall, the software on her communicator attested that she had achieved 99.8 percent accuracy. That should suffice! Anastasia ruffled her hair a few times and feigned a stressed facial expression.
She was satisfied with herself. Everything about her was fake. And yet it felt right. If only the mask didn’t itch so much, it would be perfect.
A beep awakened her. The navigation system of the automatic taxi showed a remaining distance of 5.4 kilometers. Soon she reached the small airport of Chōfu. There was a flight in three hours to Russia, but not to Novosibirsk, as that would be too dangerous. She would approach her home by land. After all, she had plenty of time.
Anastasia paid the taxi with her fake credit card and conf
irmed the payment with a fake fingerprint.
She entered the airport terminal, saw the display panels, and smiled. Yes, the technology here lagged decades behind the equipment of major airports, and that was precisely what she needed. She chose a connection to Osaka and purchased a ticket for the domestic flight at the counter.
The ticket and baggage checks went smoothly. Japan was still one of the safest countries in the world and thus chose to omit strict inspections and controls for domestic flights. She entered the dining area, which all passengers could make use of.
“A coffee, please,” she said at a centrally located bar.
“Here you are!” The friendly employee deposited a recyclable cup of the dark, steaming liquid in front of her. Anastasia gave him a generous tip, then looked around. There was nothing for her here. She took her cup and looked for a seat at an elevated height. There she could see most of the huge hall, which was about the size of a football field. Now she needed some good fortune.
Good fortune came to her half an hour later. A woman who appeared to be in a hurry sat down at the next table.
“Great,” Anastasia mumbled, unable to suppress a grin. A Russian. She saw it, she felt it. After another ten minutes, she was sure. The woman was traveling alone, a perfect combination. Anastasia set the cup aside, got herself an orange juice, and went to the woman’s table.
Anastasia addressed the unknown lady in Russian. “Dobry dien.”
“Good day,” the woman replied, a bit reluctantly. She may have felt she was being disturbed.
“May I sit next to you?”
The woman’s face revealed that she was pondering how to reply—ingrained politeness fought against the desire to be left alone.
Anastasia put on her best smile.
“Please sit down,” the woman finally said. “I am traveling alone.”
“So am I. My name’s Valentina, by the way.” It always amused Anastasia to use the first name of the boss’s daughter—whom she hated—for her false identity.
“Anna,” said the stranger.
Anastasia sat down opposite the woman, whose boarding passes were lying open on the table. Here at the provincial airport, they still printed out these documents, which in this case facilitated Anastasia’s conversation.
“Oh, you’re going to Barnaul?” Anastasia asked. She felt exhilaration spreading throughout her. She would be in Novosibirsk sooner than she thought.
“Yes, but I hate these big airports. That’s why I have to change planes again,” the woman replied. Then she put the boarding passes in her bag. “I have to go, unfortunately.”
“But check-in for your flight only starts in ten minutes, doesn’t it?”
“I want to quickly freshen up before that.”
Excellent! she thought. “You know what? I’ll come with you. My flight’s also in half an hour.”
At the entrance to the restroom, a cleaning lady walked toward them, then signed off with her fingerprint. Briefly, the time at which the next inspection was due lighted up. Perfect, she had a whole hour. That was more than she needed.
“The wall decoration is really beautiful!” Anastasia said, taking a packet of wet wipes from her bag and pulling one out. Anna turned around unsuspectingly to look at the picture. It was jarringly ugly, and looked as if a three-year-old had painted it. With a quick movement, Anastasia held the towelette, which was soaked in an odorless anesthetic, in front of the woman’s nose. Anna’s unconscious body sank into Anastasia’s arms, and she pulled her into one of the stalls, closing the door behind them. She threw the cloth into the toilet and flushed, then balanced the unconscious woman on the toilet seat and propped her in a stable position. She lifted the boarding passes from Anna’s bag.
“Sleep well!” she whispered to the unconscious woman, placing another fresh wet wipe over Anna’s nose. The anesthesia should last for at least an hour. Anastasia pulled herself up the wall of the stall with her arms, swung over the partition into the next stall and dropped to stand on the floor. She walked out toward the washbasins and left the restroom with brisk, confident steps.
Anastasia inspected the boarding passes. She memorized her new name—Anna Fyodorovna. Now she had to hurry up. Check-in would start immediately.
“Ms. Fyodorovna,” said one of the security guards after glancing at her boarding pass when she was on her way to the foreign passengers’ section, “I need to talk to you briefly.”
“But my flight—”
“You’re coming with me. Now.”
Anastasia had no choice. The man ushered her behind a thin partition, then said, “Our drug scanners came up with a positive finding in your case.”
“That’s got to be a mistake!” Anastasia had never taken drugs. Were they trying to frame her? How could this be happening?
“The results are indisputable. Our restaurants are equipped with these devices.”
“Then maybe it was the woman who sat with me at the table.”
“What’s her name?” The man remained completely calm, but she had seen the weapon hanging from his holster. Anastasia was unarmed. Even if she could overpower him, it could not be done quietly, and it would take a miracle for her to get out of the terminal.
“No idea. She said she was taking some domestic flight.”
“We’re required to test you anyway. Give me your bag, please.”
Reluctantly, Anastasia handed him her hand luggage. The test came back negative.
“Thank you for your cooperation,” the man said amicably. “We will inform the airline that you were detained.”
Anastasia started walking away. But once the security people could no longer see her, she slowed down. The later she arrived, the less likely she was to be checked again and asked to show her passport—which had a name that did not match her boarding pass.
A few minutes later, Anastasia had taken her seat on the aircraft. She fastened her seatbelt as carefully contained anger bubbled within. She had nearly been exposed, just because of a drug-dealing bitch. How harmless these criminals sometimes seemed!
February 5, 2079, Houston
They reached the city of millions late in the evening. From the air it looked, with all its lights, like an amusement park. Erik’s sense of time was in complete disarray. He had spent the last few hours half asleep and half awake. And beginning the next day he would have to study for the final exam! How was that going to work? He pulled his lower legs in toward his seat. The higher-ups had even refused them business class. NASA was really in economy mode. They would soon be the first people to tread upon Venus, and yet they were sitting bent and cramped in economy class, surrounded by nothing but tourists.
If those tourists only knew what kind of a journey he and Nuria were soon to undertake! Earlier, the man to his right, sitting in the aisle seat, had asked him his profession. He had answered that he worked in the aerospace industry, and the man had just shrugged. Being an astronaut was nothing special in this day and age. A rocket was being launched into orbit from somewhere almost every day.
However, Venus was very special. Its dense and hot atmosphere had so far prevented humans from landing there. They, too, would not actually tread upon the surface. That was left for the AVs. They would view the dangerous environment through their eyes.
Erik smiled because he remembered the border guards’ reaction during baggage check-in. They had all been called back because the scanner had discovered the human-like shapes of the AVs. Colonel Massey had explained to the officials that they were some sort of robot, part of an official government mission.
But then Erik’s AV had suddenly opened its eyes, as had happened that one day on the ship. One of the officials jumped up and drew his weapon. Massey used his authority to get the situation under control again. But the technicians would have to take another, even closer, look at Erik’s AV—it seemed far too eager to become independent.
February 5, 2079, Novosibirsk
The woman had succeeded again. She was proud of how she h
ad managed to slip unrecognized past the border controls and was riding in a taxi through Novosibirsk. Before anyone could notice that she was back home, she would have emptied the secret lair beneath her dacha and gone into hiding. When on the run, it was always better to know the country and speak the language.
Anastasia Yurkova let herself be dropped off in front of Café Baranzhar in Sovetskaya. In a corner to the right of the counter, the café kept two standalone computers for guests to use if they hadn’t brought their own tablets. The computers were ideal for her purposes. She first went to the counter and ordered a tea. She paid with a large ruble bill, refused the change, and pointed at the computer on the right. The owner understood—indicated by a micro-nod—and, starting now, the computer would not record her activities even though such tracking was required by law.
She connected her computer to the café’s machine and then tried to gain access to RB’s network. She had set up numerous backdoors. But no matter which one she approached, she was blocked. Someone had done a thorough job.
She tried a different tack, because she had also created secret access points for herself in the FSB network, with far-reaching rights. She succeeded on the very first attempt. She quickly scanned the messages, which were classified as secret. To be on the safe side, she copied all FSB messages of the last ten days to her hard disk.
“Dammit! Lazarev has survived,” Anastasia softly said, “but maybe he’ll die yet.”
There was genuine hope of that because Ivan Lazarev’s condition was extremely critical. If he didn’t die in the next few days, Ivan would be likely to recover and ruthlessly hunt her down.
But he’d have to find her first.
Anastasia looked for a small hotel some distance from all the hustle and bustle. She checked in with a fake face and matching false identity, pretending to be a writer who just needed a few weeks’ rest. She negotiated a very reasonable price, and in exchange promised to clean her room herself. There would be a big problem if a cleaner found something that was none of his or her business! The lobby smelled a bit musty, and it was clear the place had not been renovated in at least 20 years.
The Clouds of Venus: Hard Science Fiction Page 3
