Futures - Four Novellas Part 7

We raced round Jupiter's pale orange cloudscape, shedding delta-V as captain Harrison Dominy Raleigh aligned us on a course for Ganymede. Eight hours later when we were coasting up away from the gas giant, I was asked up to the bridge. Up is a relative term on a s.p.a.ceship which wasn't accelerating, and the bridge is at the center of the life-support section. There wasn't a lot of instrumentation available to the three duty officers, just some fairly sophisticated consoles with holographic windows and an impressive array of switches. The AI actually ran Kuranda, while people simply monitored its performance and that of the primary systems.

Our captain, Harrison Dominy Raleigh, was floating in front of the main sensor console, his right foot Velcroed to the decking.

"Do we have a problem?" I asked.

"Not with the ship," he said. "This is strictly your area."

"Oh?" I anch.o.r.ed myself next to him, trying to comprehend the display graphics. It wasn't easy, but then I don t function very well in low gravity situations. Fluids of every kind migrate to my head, which in my case brings on the most awful headaches. My stomach is definitely not designed to digest floating globules of food. And you really would think that after seventy-five years of people traveling through s.p.a.ce that someone would manage to design a decent freefall toilet. On the plus side, I'm not too nauseous during the aerial maneuvers that replace locomotion, and I am receptive to the anti-wasting drugs developed to counter calcium loss in human bones. It's a balance which I can readily accept as worthwhile in order to see Jupiter with my own eyes.

The captain pointed to a number of glowing purple spheres in the display, each one tagged by numerical icons. "The Caesars have orbited over twenty sensor satellites around Ganymede. They provide a full radar coverage out to eighty thousand miles. We're also picking up similar emissions from the other major moons here. No doubt their pa.s.sive scans extend a great deal further."

"I see. The relevance being?"

"n.o.body arrives at any of the moons they've claimed without them knowing about it. I'd say they're being very serious about their settlement rights."

"We never made our voyage a secret. They have our arrival time down to the same decimal place as our own AI."

"Which means the next move is ours. We arrive at Ganymede injection in another twelve hours."

I looked at those purple points again. We were the first non-Caesar s.p.a.ceship to make the Jupiter trip. The Caesars sent a major mission of eight ships thirteen years ago; which the whole world watched with admiration right up until commander Ricardo Savill Caesar set his foot on Ganymede and announced to his ma.s.sive television audience that he was claiming not only Ganymede, but Jupiter and all of its satellites for the Caesar family. It was extraordinary, not to say a complete violation of our entire world's rationalist ethos. The legal maneuvering had been going on ever since, as well as negotiations amongst the most senior level of family representatives in an attempt to get the Caesars to repudiate the claim. It was a standing joke for satirical show comedians, who got a laugh every time about excessive greed and routines about one person one moon. But in all that time, the Caesars had never moved from their position that Jupiter and its natural satellites now belonged to them. What they had never explained in those thirteen years is why they wanted it.

And now here we were. My brief wasn't to challenge or antagonize them, but to establish some precedents. "I want you to open a communication link to their primary settlement," I told the captain. "Use standard orbital flight control protocols, and inform them of our intended injection point. Then ask them if there is any problem with that. Treat it as an absolutely normal everyday occurrence ... we're just one more s.p.a.ceship arriving in orbit. If they ask what we're doing here: we're a scientific mission and I would like to discuss a schedule of geophysical investigation with their Mayor. In person."

Harrison Dominy Raleigh gave me an uncomfortable grimace. "You're sure you wouldn't like to talk to them now?"

"Definitely not. Achieving a successful Ganymede orbit is not something important enough to warrant attention from a family representative."

"Right then." He flipped his headset mike down, and instructed the AI on establishing a communication link.

It wasn't difficult. The Caesars were obviously treading as carefully as we were. Once the Kuranda was in orbit, the captain requested s.p.a.ceport clearance for our ground to orbit shuttle, which was granted without comment.

The ride down was an uneventful ninety minutes, if you were to discount the view from the small, heavily-shielded ports. Jupiter at a quarter crescent hung in the sky above Ganymede. We sank down to a surface of fawn-colored ice pocked by white impact craters and great sulci, cl.u.s.ters of long grooves slicing through the grubby crust, creating broad river-like groupings of corrugations.

For some reason I thought the landscape more quiet and dignified than that of Earth's moon. I suppose the icescape's palette of dim pastel colors helped create the impression, but there was definitely an ancient solemnity to this small world.

New Milan was a couple of degrees north of the equator, in an area of flat ice pitted with small newish craters. An undisciplined sprawl of emerald and white lights covering nearly five square miles. In thirteen years the Caesars had built themselves quite a substantial community here. All the buildings were freestanding igloos whose base and lower sections were constructed from some pale yellow silicate concrete, while the top third was a transparent dome. As the shuttle descended toward the landing field I began to realize why the lights I could see were predominately green. The smallest igloo was fifty yards in diameter, with the larger ones reaching over two hundred yards; they all had gardens at their center illuminated by powerful lights underneath the gla.s.s.

After we landed, a bus drove me over to the administration center in one of the large igloos. It was the Mayor, Ricardo Savill Caesar himself, who greeted me as I emerged from the airlock. He was a tall man, with the slightly flaccid flesh of all people who had been in a low-gravity environment for any length of time. He wore a simple gray and turquoise one-piece tunic with a mauve jacket, standard science mission staff uniform. But on him it had become a badge of office, bestowing that extra degree of authority. I could so easily imagine him as the direct descendant of some First Era Centurion commander.

"Welcome," he said warmly. "And congratulations on your flight. From what we've heard, the Kuranda is an impressive ship."

"Thank you," I said. "I'd be happy to take you round her later."

"And I'll enjoy accepting that invitation. But first it's my turn. I can't wait to show off what we've done here."

Thus my tour began; I believe there was no part of that igloo into which I didn't venture at some time during the next two hours. From the life support machinery in the lower levels to precarious walkways strung along the carbon reinforcement strands of the transparent dome. I saw it all. Quite deliberately, of course. Ricardo Savill Caesar was proving they had no secrets, no sinister apparatus under construction. The family had built themselves a self-sustaining colony, capable of expanding to meet the growing population. Nothing more. What I was never shown nor told, was the reason why.

After waiting as long as politeness required before claiming I had seen enough we wound up in Ricardo Savill Caesar's office. It was on the upper story of the habitation section, over forty feet above the central arboretum's lawn, yet the tops of the trees were already level with his window. I could recognize several varieties of pine and willow, but the low gravity had distorted their runaway growth, giving them peculiar swollen trunks and fat leaves.

Once I was sitting comfortably on his couch he offered me some coffee from a delicate china pot.

"I have the beans flown up and grind them myself," he said. "They're from the family's estates in the Caribbean. Protein synthesis might have solved our food supply problems, but there are some textures and tastes which elude the formulators."

I took a sip, and pursed my lips in appreciation. "That's good. Very good."

"I'm glad. You're someone I think I'd like to have on my side."

"Oh?"

He sat back and grinned at me. "The other families are unhappy to say the least about our settlement claim on this system. And you are the person they send to test the waters. That's quite a responsibility for any representative. I would have loved to sit in on your briefing sessions and hear what was said about us terrible Caesars."

"Your head would start spinning after the first five hours," I told him, dryly. "Mine certainly did."

"So what is it you'd like your redoubtable ship and crew to do while they're here?"

"It is a genuine scientific mission," I told him. "We'd like to study the bacterial life you've located in the moons here. Politics of settlement aside, it is tremendously important, especially after Mars turned out to be so barren."

"I certainly have no objection to that. Are we going to be shown the data?"

"Of course." I managed to sound suitably shocked. "Actually, I was going to propose several joint

expeditions. We did bring three long-duration science station vehicles with us that can be deployed on any of the lunar surfaces."

Ricardo Savill Caesar tented his forefingers, and rested his chin on the point. "What kind of duration do

these vehicles have?"

"A couple of weeks without resupply. Basically they're just large caravans we link up to a tractor unit.

They're fully mobile."

"And you envisage dispatching a mission to each moon?"

"Yes. We're also going to drop a number of probes into Jupiter to investigate its structural composition."

"Interesting. How far down do you believe they can reach?"

"We want to examine the supercritical fluid level, the surface of it at least."

He raised an eyebrow. "I shall be most impressed if your probe design is good enough to reach that

level. The furthest we've ever reached is seven hundred kilometers down."

"Our engineers seem quite confident it can be reached. The family has always given solid-state science a high priority."

"A kind of mechnological machismo."

"I suppose so."

"Well, this is all very exciting. I'm very keen to offer you our fullest cooperation and a.s.sistance. My

science team has been looking forward to your arrival for months. I don't think they'll be disappointed.

Fresh angles are always so rewarding, I find."

I showed him a satisfied nod. This stalemate was the outcome with the highest probability according to our council strategists. We'd established that our family was free to roam where it chose on any of the moons, but not to stay. Which meant the most popular, if somewhat whimsical theory, was unlikely.

Several senior family councils had advanced the notion that the Caesars had discovered high-order life out here, and wanted to keep it for themselves. After all, since they found bacteria in the undersurface seas of both Ganymede and Europa, then more complex life was an ultra-remote possibility. Personally, I had always considered that just too far fetched. More curiously, Ricardo Savill Caesar hadn't objected

to us probing Jupiter itself. The second most likely theory was that they'd found something of extraordinary value in its atmosphere. Again unlikely. There had been dozens of robot probes sent here in the decades before their flight. Which put me far enough down the list to start considering alien s.p.a.ceships and survivors of Atlantis. Not an enjoyable prospect for any rational man. But as Ricardo Savill Caesar wasn't giving anything away, my options were reducing. It was an annoying challenge. He knew that I knew the reason for the settlement claim had to be staring right at me. I simply couldn't see it.

I told myself it didn't matter. I never expected to catch it straight away, and we were due to stay at Jupiter for six months. There was plenty of time.

"Then we're all done bar the details," I said. "I'll get my AI to link to your AI. I'm sure they can organize schedules and personnel rosters between them."

He raised his cup in happy salute. "I'm sure they can. I'll authorize a link to the Kuranda immediately."

"There is one other thing. A small matter."

"Oh?"

"I'd like to see someone while I'm here. One of your deputies, in fact. It relates to an old investigation of

mine. There are one or two points I need to clear up with her."

"Who are we talking about?"

"Bethany Maria Caesar. I gather she's on Io."

"Yes," he said cautiously. "She runs the science team there."

His abrupt shift in att.i.tude was fascinating. It was as though I'd suddenly won a point in our game of

words and nuances. If only I could have worked out how I'd done that. All I'd said was her name. "You don't object to me talking to her, do you?"

"Not at all. If it isn't confidential, what is this old investigation, exactly?"

"A murder."

"Good Lady Mary. Really?"

"As I say, it's an old one. However, I have a new theory I'd like to run past her." The Io science outpost was nothing like New Milan. It consisted of two dozen cylindrical compartments resting on concrete cradles sunk deep into the carmine-colored crust; they were all plugged into each other like some array of antique electronic components. For years they'd suffered from the exhalations of the volcano. Its furious sulfur emission clouds had gently drizzled down, staining their metallic- white casings with a thin film of dirty amber colloid which dribbled round the exterior to drip from the belly. But for all its functionalism, the Caesars had certainly chosen a location with a view. One of the compartments had an observation gallery, aligned so that its curving windows looked directly out at the distant sulfur volcano, which appeared as a dark conical silhouette rising out of the horizon.

I waited for Bethany Maria Caesar at one of the refractory tables in the gallery, staring straight out at the volcano through the gritty, smeared windows, hoping I would get to see an eruption. The only evidence of any seismic activity was the occasional tremor which ran through the compartment, barely enough to create a ripple in my teacup.

"h.e.l.lo, Edward, it's been a long time."

I would never have recognized her. This woman standing before me bore only the faintest resemblance to that beautiful, distraught girl I'd sat with through innumerable interviews eight decades ago. She looked, for want of a better word, old. Her face was lined with chubby wrinkles that obscured the features I once knew; nor was there any more of that glowing blonde hair-she'd had a crew cut so severe it barely qualified as stubble, and that was grayish. The tunic she wore was loose-fitting, but even that couldn't disguise her stooped posture.

She put both hands on the table and lowered herself into a chair opposite me with a slight wheeze. "Quite a sight, aren't I?"

"What happened?" I asked, appalled. No briefing file had mentioned any sort of accident or chronic illness.

"Low gravity happened, Edward. I can see your face is all puffed up with fluid retention, so you already know a fraction of the suffering possible. Content yourself with that fraction. Low gravity affects some people worse than others, a lot worse. And after thirteen years' constant exposure, I'm just about off the scale."

"Dear Mary! I don't know what you Caesars want with Jupiter, but nothing is worth abusing yourself like this. Come home, back to Earth."

Her smile alluded to a wisdom denied me. "This is my home. Jupiter is the frontier of humanity."

"How can you say that? It's killing you."

"Life!" the word was spat out. "Such a treacherous gift."

"A precious gift," I countered.

"Ah yes. Poor old Justin. I was quite surprised when I saw you were the representative the Raleighs were sending. You caused me quite a little trip down memory lane."

"I won't lie to you, you're not my primary reason for being here."

"Ha. The great mystery of our time. What can those wicked Caesars want with Jupiter? Had any luck working it out yet?"