3
Ganymede: 2066 A.D.
There's no place like Ganymede. It has volatiles in abundance, ammonia and methane and water. In fact, fully half of Ganymede is water or water-ice—pure and potable—more than anywhere else in the solar system. Its surface gravity is just right, a pleasant and healthful one-seventh of Earth's field. Put all these things together, and they make Ganymede the perfect world, a paradise, the jewel of the Jovian system.
There's no place like Ganymede. All the Ganymede publicity and press releases tell you so.
Conner Preston looked around him and was unpersuaded.
He was far from his home on Ceres, shipped out for a one-year assignment that his boss had described as "broadening." Conner thought of it another way: A year in the Jovian system was one more bridge to be crossed on the way to the top of Ceres Broadcasting, the system's top news agency.
But it wasn't going to be an easy year. He was standing on the highest interior level, just a hundred meters below Ganymede's surface, and even here the noise was loud enough to rattle your teeth. He wondered what the Von Neumanns could possibly be doing so close to open space. The damned things had been at it on Ganymede for almost forty years. It made sense that they might still be active deep in the interior, because Ganymede was big, the biggest moon in the solar system, larger than the planet Mercury. It represented a huge amount of real estate that had to be shaped and developed. But surely work on the outer layers should have been finished years ago.
Maybe it would have made more sense to leave the Moon uninhabited until the Von Neumanns were all done, instead of people rushing in to colonize at the earliest possible moment. Humans had needs: air, warmth, water, food. The Von Neumanns required none of these. So far as they were concerned, humans were nothing but a nuisance.
One of the bigger Von Neumanns, the size of a small dog, came trundling by Conner while that thought was still in his head. It was holding a vibratory borer, whose subsonics and ultrasonics would powder the hardest rock. If it chose to turn that damned thing on, anywhere within thirty meters . . .
He was tempted to ask what it thought it was doing, up here so far from interior construction, but he knew that would be a waste of time. The self-replicating machines were dim. They were just smart enough to do their jobs, respect the presence of humans, and reproduce themselves from local materials; and not one bit smarter. Humans had learned, the hard way, Fishel's Law and Epitaph: Smart is dumb. It is unwise to build too much intelligence into a self-replicating machine. That applied as much on Ganymede as it did in the Belt or anywhere else.
Conner sighed. He could escape from the noise if he were willing to take the next step, and head out onto the actual surface. He had been putting that off.
It wasn't that he disliked suits. He had worn them for jaunts around the Belt since he was three years old. But Ceres and Pallas and Vesta didn't have Jupiter looming over them, a mere million kilometers away and apparently ready to drop onto your head.
It couldn't, of course. Ganymede's orbit was totally stable. But Jupiter could do something almost as bad. It could bombard you with an endless sleet of high-energy protons, gathered from the solar wind, accelerated by Jupiter's magnetic field, and delivered as a murderous hail onto Ganymede's frozen surface.
The Ganymede suits with their woven-in threads of high-temperature superconductors took care of that. The charged particles followed the magnetic-field lines, harmlessly around and past the suit's surface. Conner, inside, would be safe and snug.
But how could he be sure? How would he know that the suit hadn't quietly failed, leaving him to cook where he stood?
He wouldn't know—better admit it. Conner glanced at his watch. It was time to go. Death before dishonor. Except that Ceres Broadcasting seemed to provide assignments where there was a good chance of both. He checked his suit again and walked across to the elevator that would give him the hundred-meter boost to the surface.
The shuttle craft was waiting for him when he got there. Within five minutes he was lifting off and heading toward the ship of the Sixth Saturn Exploration Team, nine hundred kilometers above him in its orbit around Ganymede.
Conner felt that he was flying clear of danger. He did not realize that he would have been far safer standing on the surface of Ganymede in a suspect suit.
* * *
The journey out took half an hour. Conner had time to review his notes and to admit to himself an important truth: Ceres Broadcasting was not to blame for bringing him up here from the Ganymede interior. He was.
There had been a briefing the previous day by a member of the Sixth Saturn Exploration Team, far below in the interior levels. It had been more than adequate for most reporters, answering in full each of the few questions that were asked. The invitation to visit the ship itself, made by team deputy leader Alicia Rios, sounded like a pure formality. It was clear from her manner that she did not expect anyone to take her up on it, with its implied uncomfortable and time-consuming trip to orbit.
And no one else had. Conner was not quite sure why he was going himself. The only thing that he could think of was the contrast with the First Saturn Exploration Team, the party of ten people that had set out from Earth, thirty-five years ago, for humanity's original contact with the Saturnian moons. Conner was a nut about background checks. Before yesterday's briefing he had reviewed every file that he could find about that earlier expedition. He had studied interviews held with the first team's members before they left, and had watched videos of them exploring the Saturn system. On the face of it, the resemblance between the first and the latest expedition was surprising. But underneath there lay a basic difference that Conner found hard to put his finger on. Maybe that was the real reason he was here.
There were a couple of obvious differences, but those he could discount. This time only three people would be going, rather than the original ten. That represented progress in both ship automation and robot construction. One person could fly the new ship, and if necessary the computer and automatic pilot could handle anything short of a major emergency without human presence. There had also been big improvements in ship construction since the Marklake had left Earth in 2030. Conner had noted in the early video records how cramped the quarters of the first expedition had been. Now, approaching the Weland, he saw before him as large and, presumably, as spacious a vessel as any used by the Belt nomads. The main engines were Diabelli Omnivores, which could use as fusion fuel any of the lighter elements up to neon. He looked at those with special interest. They were banned from use in the Belt (although there were unconfirmed rumors that the Omnivores were undergoing secret development there as weapons). But with their use, the Weland would be able to live off the land anywhere from Mercury to Pluto.
The three members of the Saturn expedition were waiting for Conner when he passed through the Weland's lock, removed his suit, and drifted through into the first of the three main cabins. One of them was Alicia Rios, whom he had met the previous day. The other two he recognized by name and appearance from the briefing materials: Jeffrey Cayuga, the expedition's leader, was a grey-haired man in his forties, and Lenny Costas was the big, slow-moving, and apparently slow-thinking engineer.
"Welcome aboard, Mr. Preston." Cayuga's words and smile were cordial enough. His tone and his eyes were something else—cool, measured, and guarded.
"Thank you." Conner did his best not to stare.
"I understand that you would like a tour of the ship?"
Cayuga's question made sense. What else could Conner get here, that he could not have obtained at yesterday's briefing? At Conner's nod Cayuga went on, "Then I suggest we begin aft. Unless you have questions before we start?"
"I'd like to ask as we go. But I do have one for you now. The three of you are all relatives of team members on the first Saturn system expedition. How did that happen?"
Did he imagine it, or was there in fact a change in Cayuga's expression, a glimpse of something new behind the eyes?
But he was answering smoothly enough, turning to lead the way so that Conner could no longer see his face: "Call it an obsession, Mr. Preston, one that we all three share. Saturn exploration has been a family affair with us for three generations. My great-uncle, Jason Cayuga, together with Luke Costas and Athene Rios, flew on the first, second, third, and fourth Saturn expeditions. They died as they would have chosen to die: exploring. But after their disappearance, as you might imagine, we felt an obligation to try to learn what had happened. The three of us were on the fifth Saturn expedition."
"But you never found them." Conner turned his head quickly. Alicia Rios and Lenny Costas were following close behind, watching him intently.
"Unfortunately, no. But here we are." Cayuga was opening the door to the engine room and waving him through. Conner went ahead, a little nervous, although he knew that the Diabelli Omnivores were completely powered down. He found himself facing a half-dozen blue cylinders, each about three meters across. These were the hearts of the Omnivores, where the actual fusion reactions took place. He found even their appearance unsettling.
"Never a trace of anyone," Cayuga went on, "although we searched for several months. There had been a final signal, indicating that they were heading for Titan to check the progress of the Von Neumanns left there by the second expedition. It is possible that they lost control of the ship and plunged into the Titan atmosphere. If that happened and everyone died, the Von Neumanns would of course have employed their remains."
From his voice there was no way to know that he was talking about the fate of one of his own close relatives. Conner compared Jeffrey Cayuga, standing before him, with his recollection of the video images he had seen of the uncle, Jason Cayuga. It was easy to see a physical resemblance: Both men were tall and pale and had full lips and prominent noses. The nephew's dark beard made further comparison difficult, but even without it there was no way that anyone would mistake one for the other. Jason had always had a smile, answering even the rudest or most stupid question during media interviews in a light-hearted, laughing voice. He looked like a great man to party with. Whereas Jeffrey . . .
A real cold fish, cold and pale as Alicia Rios. Lenny Costas, with his hunched shoulders and expressionless eyes, seemed no better. Maybe that was what they needed to tolerate the lonely journeys to the undeveloped reaches of Saturn and beyond.
But Cayuga was a cold fish that Conner had better pay attention to, because now he was over by the Omnivores, patting one of the bulbous cylinders with a pale, hairless hand.
"As you probably know, the Omnivores are able to operate in five different modes, depending on what is easily available." Cayuga beckoned Conner closer. "The fusion takes place right here, inside this section. We can burn hydrogen to form helium, with an internal temperature as low as ten million degrees. If hydrogen is not available, the Omnivores can fuse helium to make carbon, but that needs at least a hundred million degrees before it becomes efficient. In mode three, carbon will burn to oxygen, neon, and magnesium, starting at about six hundred million degrees. Then we have mode four, neon burning once we get above a billion. And finally, if necessary we can fuse oxygen to silicon and then to iron. But those reactions don't really cut in until the Omnivores reach an interior operating temperature of at least one and a half billion degrees."
One and a half billion. Conner stared at the bulbous cylinders of the Omnivores with a new mixture of horror and respect. That was scores of times hotter than the center of the Sun itself. No wonder they were banned for Belt use and could be turned into weapons.
And if one of these Omnivores went wrong, in its hottest mode? The crew of the Weland would never know it. They might as well be sitting in the middle of a supernova.
"Are they safe?" The question popped out before he could stop it, but Cayuga did not seem to mind. He was even smiling, in a distant sort of way.
"Safe compared to what, Mr. Preston? Residence aboard the Weland is far safer, in my opinion, than residence today either on Earth or Mars, or in the Belt."
"You really think there is going to be a war?"
"Don't you?"
It was the question of the hour. On the one hand, Conner argued that the economic bickering between Earth and the Belt had gone on for as long as he could remember, and that was a full twenty years. But there was no doubt that recent exchanges were more rancorous.
"I believe that Earth deserves to be taught a lesson." Conner was parroting standard Belt politics, and felt uncomfortable doing it. "But I don't see how that can happen. I mean, there are eleven billion of them, and only a hundred million of us. And anyway, Earth has the Armageddon defense line, and it's supposed to be impenetrable. They drain a ridiculous share of our resources to support their population bloat, but I don't think there can be a war."
"Many people disagree," Alicia Rios said. "The rate of immigration from Earth and Belt to the Jovian system has tripled in the past four years. I gather that you yourself are a recent arrival."
"I was sent here. It's part of my job."
True enough. But Conner knew that it was not the whole story. He might claim that the stint on Ganymede was cruel and unusual punishment; but here, far from the threats and the posturing of Earth, Mars, and Ceres, he certainly felt a lot more secure.
Jeffrey Cayuga was staring at him as though he could read Preston's thoughts. "As I said a moment ago, the Weland and Saturn exploration is safe compared to what? Nature is less of a threat than human actions. Our expedition team, cruising the moons of Saturn, will be subjected to less danger than your friends and relations on Ceres. I am not sure that even Ganymede and Callisto will be safe if a full-scale war breaks out."
"But you plan to come back here, when the expedition returns."
"That is not quite true." Cayuga nodded to Alicia Rios and Lenny Costas and they turned, leading the way from the engine room.
"We will return to Ganymede," he went on, "if it seems completely safe to do so. But I do not live here. I make my home on Lysithea, one of the minor satellites of Jupiter. It is almost twelve million kilometers out, and it is rather small—just thirty-five kilometers in diameter. But it offers privacy. And it is, above all, safe."
He stared at Conner Preston and spoke the final word with peculiar intensity. Safe. It made Conner feel physically uncomfortable. Suddenly he felt anything but safe. He was eager to leave the Weland, and the company of Jeffrey Cayuga, as soon as possible.
* * *
When the shuttle carrying Conner Preston was on its way back to the surface of Ganymede, the three members of the Sixth Saturn Exploration Team convened in the ship's main cabin.
"Opinions?" Cayuga was at one of the scopes, watching the descending shuttle.
"I do not think that we have a problem." Lenny Costas had not spoken more than two words to Conner Preston, but his pale, cautious eyes had watched him closely every second that he had been aboard. "He knows nothing. I believe that he suspects nothing."
"You are too easily persuaded. Why then did he bother to come here?"
"Sniffing and scouting. He is a reporter. That is his job."
"Maybe." Cayuga, still using the scope, did not look around. "Alicia?"
"I don't like it. As a reporter, he gets places. It is possible that he was on Mars, three years ago."
"Even if he were, it is unlikely that he met Neely."
"But not inconceivable. They could have talked, before we were able to put the trace on her. I say, why take the risk? It is better to be rid of him, and be safe."
"I do not disagree with you." Cayuga was still at the scope. The shuttle with Conner on board was finally making its landing on the surface of Ganymede. "But the timing is inconvenient. Our review of progress on Helene is overdue. The others are already there. We should not delay our departure."
"We can use Jinx Barker. He did a good job for us on Mars. He's a professional, he's reliable, and he's discreet."
"He appears to be. But let us not forget that he is no more than a hired hand. He is not one of the Club. We must be careful."
"Of course. Why not make this a test case? We will be away for at least eight months. We tell Jinx what we want him to do about Conner Preston. When we get back we check that he did a good, quiet job. No matter what happens, there will be nothing to tie Preston to the Club. And we will all be a billion kilometers away."
"Lenny?"
Costas nodded. "I doubt Preston knows anything, but after listening to Alicia, I have to agree with her. It's just possible Conner Preston picked up some information from Neely. No point in taking the risk. I say, let Jinx handle it."
"Then we three are all in agreement. We will inform the other Club members when we arrive at Helene. Alicia, you will need to brief Jinx Barker in person."
"I know. I'll go down and do it today."
"Tell him to take his time, to find out as much about Conner Preston as he can, and report to us when we return."
"Suppose he decides that Preston has no connection at all with Neely?"
"He will still do his job, and dispose of Preston. Those must be his instructions. We cannot have someone who is not a Club member assessing risk on our behalf."
"Suppose there is a connection? Suppose Jinx finds out too much about Neely?"
"Then we must make another decision. It could be membership. He might make an excellent recruit."
"I'm sure he would." Alicia was smiling.
"No." Costas shook his big, shaggy head. "I don't like that at all. Don't forget that Neely was once considered a prime candidate for Club membership."
"A valid point." Cayuga turned off the scope. The screen turned dark, and the image of Conner Preston's shuttle blinked out of existence. "Caution is always the best policy. However, it does not affect our decision regarding Conner Preston. It is a pity that we took time explaining the ship to him. That is favorable publicity that will probably never be used."